Quantifying Identity- "It Only Takes One Generation"

Story Time:

At a gathering for graduate students in a local bar, the inevitable, icky question of funding came up with people I was meeting for the first time from other departments. My roommie and I explained how ours worked, and part of this involved discussing the nature of graduate fellowships. I clarified that most  of our fellowship students are on one of two that last five years each, while I was a unique case with my two-year-master's-diversity one. Another guy said he was on a Ph.D. fellowship for diversity  because he's Hispanic. I said I'm Native American. He squinted his eyes and asked me, skeptically, "How Native American?"

"Wait, what?" I asked.

"How Native American are you?"

I stared, slack-jawed. Some other gals at the table started to say something like, "Now hang on, it's not like I get asked, 'How woman are you?' and I say, 'Uuuuuh, 98%!'"

"Well," he went on, entirely unphased, "I ask because there was this girl at my undergrad that's 1/32 Cherokee and had a full ride for it. I mean, the girl was as white as white can be, but she claimed this random, distant relative, and got free college, it seemed really unfair."

How cute.

I knew exactly what he was doing- implying that since I'm pale with dirty-blonde hair,  I must be a total poser, milking the system unfairly, etc.

So I puffed up and said, "You want to test how Native American I am? My grandpa was beaten by a priest for speaking Lakota at school, that's how Native American I am."

(Granted, it was actually my great uncle, but I was pissed- same generation, at least.)

"What?" he asked, confused. I repeated and he asked, "I'm sorry, speaking what?"

"Luh-coe-tuh, you know, my tribe's language?"

"Oooh, LAKOTA!" he said, as if he just now got it. 

"YES!" I said, "Lakota. Sioux, Oglala Lakota Sioux, like Crazy Horse?"

"Yeah..." he said, but his eyes squinted again. "So your grandpa?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Was beaten?"

"Uh-huh?"

"For speaking Lakota?"

"Yeah, exactly, so don't you dare go implying I have no connections to-"

"Well," he interrupted with, "so you got the diversity fellowship, that's great. Mine was a doctoral one, so it was for academic merit and diversity."

So we went from implying I'm "not Native enough" to having no actual academic credentials because I am "Native enough" in a few seconds. 

Now, this dude would prolly have gone off the rails if I asked "how Hispanic" he was. And would have thrown the table at me if I suggested he didn't deserve his fellowship because the only real reason he had one was because  he's a minority. But I'm not that kind of person. So I refrained.

I kind of wish I hadn't.

The above conversation is one indigenous persons in this country have over and over again, even if they have darker skin than I do. It comes in different forms and in different contexts- it could be from institutions testing their credentials; from non-indigenous persons they meet; or even from other indigenous persons themselves. This comes down to blood quantum.

Remember how that guy said, "...1/32 Cherokee..."? I'm sure you've heard people talk of their heritage that way before- "I'm 1/2 Irish." "I'm half Muggle." You know, as a way to highlight whatever portion of their heritage they wish to highlight.

With indigenous ancestry, there's an entirely different connotation.

Blood quantum is the shorthand way of saying "Amount of Native American blood in a person needed in order to 'count' as Native American." Blood quantum laws were set by the federal government and then adopted and modified by individual Nations as a means of controlling tribal membership and rosters. The federal government doesn't mind it, and there are always fights about it in Indian Country. Because yeah, resources are limited, so there needs to be a way of figuring out whose claims of ancestry are "legit" and whose aren't. But at the same time, there are so many problems with it, it's rather deplorable. But nobody can really come up with anything else. So it doesn't change.*

Why is it problematic? Well, remember how I said that guy would have flipped his shit if I had questioned his authenticity? Yeah, that doesn't really happen to any other ethnic/racial minority. It stemmed from cause to discriminate, oh sure, but the opposite happened with Blacks with the "one drop" rule, and now it stands as a means of affirmative action-esque policies. No other minority group has to provide government documentation in order to proclaim that as their identity. None. Period. Nor do they have to pass a gorram background/blood check. I think this is something  that gets taken for granted by other minorities. And I don't think anyone asking, "How Native are you?" (because again, we get asked this all. the. time.) intends to bring this  baggage up, but by invoking the question, they do. And coming from a white person, it feels like, "Fuck you, it's your ancestor's fault you'd even feel the need to ask that." When it comes from a minority, it feels like, "And I bet you've never had to answer the same question, have you? Must be  nice." Even if they  mean well, as if they  just genuinely are curious, blood quantum is an underlying, unspoken  presence in the conversation. And other people just do not understand this. The authenticity  of claims of indigenous heritage is brought into question daily by the government. And that leads to general questions from everyday people, like  that guy in the bar.

Another reason is you have to prove it through documentation of your lineage. So if there's a missing spot on the family tree, PRESTO! go home, you don't count. Have a nice day. It's really easy to get kicked off the roster because of some bureaucratic error, rather than because you actually are not qualified. 

Another reason it's problematic is the rules themselves keep changing. A few years ago, for example, the Cherokee Nation declared it would no longer allow people descended from slaves to count. A whole huge group of people were taken off of the Cherokee roster as a result. And yes, there are economic issues to consider, and they claimed they were doing so in order to keep resources in the hands of people whose blood ran Cherokee, but the Freedmen are descendants of people immersed and bred within the Cherokee Nation's culture. What the Cherokee did itself isn't my main concern, though, but rather why. The fact is, they were having trouble with their rosters and dealing with blood quantum, and kicking some people  off the dole made that easier to do. And other tribes change their rules all the time as their resources shrink and as their lands are encroached on more. Never mind whether those people getting kicked off identify in their heart of hearts as that tribe- it's the bottom line taking precedent over some people because others are suffering.

And that relates to the next reason it's problematic. Again, the rules began with the federal government. And it's entirely colonialist for a government to tell the people it has conquered the rules for identifying as part of that group. The tribes carried those rules over because they didn't have any other model to go off of- legal documentation to prove status? Entirely foreign to indigenous peoples in North America. I don't know how other tribes work, but I know back when this shit was made into law, my people, the Lakota, would accept you if you wanted and earned it. There was no document to sign, you just had to prove you lived Lakota, loved Lakota, breathed Lakota, and would die Lakota. The document thing may sound easier, but it's not- it's a lot more exclusionary to say a person's blood has to be pure enough than to say their heart does. And again, the government doesn't set these rules for any other group, so the only people whose cultures are being defined all have brown skin and have been sequestered onto Reservations.

The main reason this is problematic, though, is that it's an institutionalized, bureaucratized form of modern genocide. 

Think about it.

If a person has to pass a threshold of "Indianness" in their blood before being allowed to claim it as their identity, it's only a matter of time before Native Americans will die off. Even if we keep "breeding" with each other, the way the blood quantum laws are so finnicky with some tribes, if you're a mix of enough stuff, even if it's more Native stuff than white, if you can't claim enough of one tribe's blood, you're out. I'm not into inbreeding, and we shouldn't have to resort to that sort of thing in order to retain the "purity" of our blood just so that the government will be happy. I see no reason why mixed bloods shouldn't count, so long as they believe it in their hearts.

My mom has a saying, "It only takes one generation." Hers was the first generation to grow up off-res on her dad's side. And she is 100% city girl as a result. In one generation, the language, the skills, the culture- pretty much gone in her family.  I have more "Native heritage" than her because I learned how to do things like start a fire and grow vegetables from my friends and "family" out in Washington- and they're white. Her sister and one of my cousins are sort of going back to their roots, so to speak (I think my cousin is trying to learn Lakota, and she works on the res now), but the only way for my cousin's kids to officially count would be for her to marry someone with HELLA more Native blood than she has- and her fiance isn't at all Native American, so that's not happening. So she can immerse herself and her family on the res all she wants, the government isn't going to give two shits unless she bangs a Real Live Indian.

"Why should you let the government decide? If you want to be Indian, be Indian!" you say. Again, I point you to the uniqueness of blood quantum laws. They do not exist for anyone else. So the government has already said our identities need to be codified and quantified, ours and ours alone. There's no blood test to be American- but there's a test to be Native American. Which is pretty fucking ironic, given all of the ridiculously hypocritical nativism arguments being spouted by white people afraid the Mexicans are going to ruin the country. You want  Homeland  Security to secure your borders, do you?

I think that image is pretty telling- notice how those Apache warriors have guns? That's escalation. It shows how we aren't dying off, we're adapting. 

And I say all this as someone that doesn't "count." I'm 1/16 Lakota; that's not enough. My mom's generation is the first to be raised off-res, but the last to make blood quantum.

"It only takes one generation." 

With the birth of me and my siblings and cousins came pretty much the death of the Lakota line  in my family. Unless by some miracle  I meet a nice guy that happens to be Lakota- because call me selfish, but I'm   having enough trouble with men as it is, so I'm not about to limit my search to Lakota men.

But  as resources shrink, as demands increase, blood quantum laws are going to get stricter and stricter. And there may be some ridiculous reversal where they all of a sudden get really loosey-goosey, but in all honesty, I don't think  a swing like that would work. I think there are too few of us left for it to make a lasting difference. And anyway, individual tribes would  have to disappear. Hell, they kind of already  are.

But.

We are not dead yet.  And  yeah, Indian Schools stopped running  a while back, the last being Stewart Indian School, closed in 1986. So our culture isn't technically illegal  any more.  But legacies  of direct violence such as war, rape, and forced removal, as well as indirect violence, such as discrimination and  blood quantum, are doing their job, and I worry that within a few more generations, there won't be enough of us left to hold onto our lands, to keep our cultures alive. 

I wonder what I'm going to tell my children. And it frightens me, and it saddens me, and I mourn for the identity they won't really be able to have. Because how can I tell them they're Native when they're two generations away  from "counting" and every signal they get from the entire United States culture is telling them that? How can I tell them they're Lakota when I already have asshats like the one in the bar going after me? When they're prolly going to look whiter than I do?

It's prolly a good thing I'm single and am nowhere near having my own kids  yet, otherwise I'd have to more seriously think of this shit, and I'd prolly have a huge meltdown.

I get angry when people ask "how" Native American I am.  And I get hurt. And  I'm not really sure how to end this, except to ask anyone reading to think next time they start to ask somebody claiming Native ancestry "how much" that ancestry is. Because it's bad enough we live with the knowledge we're being measured by the government  every day. It's bad enough we know there are government-sanctioned practices acting as the norm today that are gradually killing us off. 

We don't need you reminding  us. 


*I realized after writing this I was almost uncannily channeling this gentleman here, so I figured I should give credit where subliminal credit is due. 

Wide Open Spaces

I had the weirdest thing happen today, and I figured I could turn it into some deep message to anyone that gives a damn, so read on, if you care.

The seating at my favorite on-campus coffee spot, which  is also attached to a cafeteria, was uber full this morning. I'm guessing it was the rain- I imagine I wasn't the only person with the idea of just camping out and working until my meeting, rather than having to go in and out of the rain a bunch of times. No big deal- it happens, right? So I stood around for nigh thirty minutes waiting for a table to clear up in order to meet a former student about grad school rec letters. As soon as one cleared, I put my stuff down, then hopped over and ordered a yummy hazelnut  latte.  

I had been typing, my coffee cooling beside me, as I waited for less than five minutes when this old dude started putting his stuff on my table in vacant seat (for the student). And  I watched, flabbergasted, as his companion started doing the same thing to the young lady, also typing and with the remnants of a coffee and muffin, at the table beside mine. Neither even asked if it was okay, they just did it. 

I said I was waiting for someone to come, could they please find an empty chair, and the guy at my table said this "isn't a place for students to wait around."

Students, huh?

I corrected him and said that I'm an independent instructor, waiting for a student to show up so we could discuss recommendation letters, and he sat down and said, "This is a place for eating, not meeting," as he pulled his bread (I think pumpkin...? some sort of sweet loaf he got from the coffee shop, at least) out of its little wax baggie. 

I held up my own coffee and said, "I paid for this coffee, so I have every right to be here, and you're also obviously meeting with someone, too, so I see no difference between the two of us." 

He pointed at my laptop and said, "You paid for your coffee, but this isn't a place to work, it's a place to eat." 

"Oh really?" I asked. "So are you going to go around to every single other person on a laptop or whose food or drink is empty and tell them to leave? I'm not moving, sir, I paid for my coffee, just like you paid for yours, and this is a public space, so you can't tell me I have no right to be here." 

He grumbled something incoherent, then turned toward his companion and the two started speaking in another language to each other while glaring at me and the other woman whose table had been invaded (obviously they thought she shouldn't have been using her laptop, either). The other guy got up for something just as my student showed up, at which point  the other young lady offered her table to me. I said, very loudly, "Well, there's someone at your table, too, so that's not really going to work." I looked poignantly at the guy across from me. He glared, then moved to her seat, and when his companion returned, they continued to mutter and glare at me as I started talking to my student about her applications. After a few minutes, they seemed to get over it and I'm assuming started talking about other stuff, although I still couldn't understand  them.

Now these two old men... I don't know if they were professors or what, but  they were entirely inappropriate and rude and hypocritical- I had paid for the space I was occupying by buying that coffee that was still too hot to sip. Further, they seemed to have no concept of how public spaces work, let alone ones on or near a university campus- wherever there's a chair, bench, or some other thing you can sit on, there are going to be people camped out, working. Do they go up to complete strangers at the Starbucks off the highway and tell them to leave because they have a book or a laptop? And there's the fact that they didn't ask. And then being so overt about talking trash about me in another language? 

I mean, I seriously have trouble understanding/comprehending how anyone  would think any one  aspect of their behavior was okay, let alone all of it combined!

Of course, I could offer the entirely opposite story from when I was at an airport Burger King once and this adorable old man  in a suit asked to share my table, and I ended up seeing pictures of his grandchildren, including the newborn  he was about to visit. Same situation, different approach, different results. 

This  makes  me  think,  though.

Because while studying (or at least looking like you are) or meeting  people for official stuff (or at least looking like you are) is totally expected in open spaces on campus, even doing so, gasp, socially (!). I do think I'm kind of judgy about other stuff. Like I find it kind of more than a little inappropriate when I see people asleep on benches or soft chairs around  campus. Our  Union has a whole bunch of couches and cushioned chairs on one of its floors, and I swear, I don't think I've ever been  there without seeing at least one person napping. And that just... I dunno, it irks me and weirds me out. And I feel kind of bad about being  judgy, and I usually end up thinking something closer to, "Oh God, that poor person must be so drained and overworked!" but not  until after, "What a slob!" sits there for a few seconds. But I do know I'd never let myself fall asleep in public like that.

And  here's  another thing that irks me: When say you're at a coffee shop, and there's a table big enough for six, and one person is at it, alone, with all of their crap spread all over the table  so a person would either have to move it for them, or they'd have to do it themselves in order for the space to be shared. Now I understand  that sometimes you're alone  and the only table left is the big one, but why spread your stuff, except to passively say, "Fuck off," to anyone considering  asking to share? Again, the idea of acting that way just isn't brain-wrappable  for  me. 

Where does a body draw the line? When does  a body know  when it's okay to ask and when  it's not?

And I feel bad and a little useless for not really even knowing how to begin to answer that. Except maybe to say, "Follow your gut," and hope it's enough? I mean, I know I usually try to take up as little space as possible, and if I'm alone and it looks like someone else needs to sit, I'll sometimes call out to them and offer my spare seat. And I always, always  ask permission to sit with a stranger.

So I guess for once I don't really have much of a deep point to make. I just know that while I may  be kind of rude in my head, I'm not remotely as huge of an asshole as either of those dudes this morning. And no, that's not a very high standard to use, it's better than throwing my stuff down in front of people and trying to make  them feel like crap.

And I'll also say, albeit slightly bashfully, that I'm kind of proud of myself for not just sitting there silent or, worse, getting up. I stood my ground- by sitting on my fat, Native American  ass, to be fair- even was a little snarky, which isn't something I'd usually expect of myself. So, uh, go team?

Girly Nerdery 2: Cosplay, Cons, and the Intersection of Rape and Geek Cultures

I absolutely,  in my heart of hearts, believe that the way creepers at conventions think it's okay  for them to do their creeper thing at said conventions is a direct result of a combination of both rape culture and the hyper-sexist environment of geek culture. It doesn't matter whether a woman is  fat,  thin, blonde, brunette, white, of color- women are treated like crap at cons and in geek culture.  

TRIGGER WARNING: I'm going to be discussing real sexual harassment I've experienced at an anime convention, as well as bringing up other real-life accounts I've heard of online. 

There are lots  of posts online about how women at cons get harrassed. I think there's a strong misconception that only women in skimpy outfits face it, or only heavy women. I saw this on FB and I think it gets at some of this:

Contra to what a lot of people  on the comments there and  on the place I saw it on FB think, this image isn't about fat-shaming per se. It's about how women of any shape and size are treated like crap at conventions- heavy women, like the woman brave enough to draw this, are made fun of for being "too fat" for their costumes (much like this gal was here). BUT. The strip also shows how women with that "ideal" body type are called sluts and oggled at by the same people, and their "legitimacy" is constantly tested. 

In May, I hosted a bachelor/bachelorette party at an anime convention. Sort of. It was held at the  con, during the con, and myriad  of the  guests did con things throughout the weekend. I didn't- another friend and I got a room together at another hotel, so whenever I was at the convention hotel, I was running back and forth doing things prepping  for the party. So I was never in costume. I did, however, try to be somewhat in cognito by bringing a nerdy shirt for the day  I knew I'd be around  the con more. When waiting for an elevator whilst wearing this  shirt, a very tall, bulky dude that looked like David Bowie in Labrynth, except with  green skin, said to me, "Can I have your autograph?" I chuckled and said  it'd be pretty useless. He stepped closer and said, "Well how about you come up to my room?"

"Ah, no, I'm not that kind of person," I said, backing away toward the larger, open space of the lobby. I stopped parallel with a group of three guys that weren't in costume, but rather really outlandish  hats. They apparently had been watching and listening to the whole thing, because they were sniggering and looking at me. 

"You sure?" Bowie said, taking a step in my direction. 

I shook my head, but my body froze. Bowie glared at me for a moment, then said, "Psh, cunt," as he started to turn  around. The  hat guys started laughing as I bolted.

I found a staircase and took that upstairs.

Then about an hour later, as I was getting ice for the party, a dude in a Mad Hatter (ala Johnny Depp) costume said as I was passing him, "Hey, baby, where you goin' in such a hurry?" tipping his hat up a little as he overexaggeratedly looked me  up and down.

In my shock, I blurted, "Party!" as I started to walk much, much faster, which meant I had to go past him. 

From behind me, I heard him say, "The party's right here!" 

So to clarify, I was propositioned inappropriately not once, but twice, while 1) having absolutely no "provocative" clothing on, and 2) while still being the same shape I've been for ages, i.e. overweight. Yeah, big boobs, but in a shirt like that, plus with the sweater-wrap thing I had on over it, I prolly looked more like a black-and-grey blob than anything else.

Yeah, anecdotal evidence isn't always generalizable, but given the plethora of pieces about harassment at conventions and shady stuff that gets reported then ignored by the people that should care, it's hard to deny there's a problem. And it's obvious there needs to be better security and measures for people to report violations of their privacy or person.

But the misconception that it only happens to hot chicks in skimpy outfits is I think one of the biggest problems. This article from Kotaku has a good cluster of variant incidents, but some "highlights," if you will:

• A security guard getting up in the grill of a journalist.
• A game developer kissed a PR gal's head in a bar, and another kissed her neck.
• Another PR gal was accused of not doing her presumed job of taking a picture with a dude that thought she was a "booth babe."
• Another journalist had a man take a zoom-in shot of her breasts.
• One dude confessed to another that his usual strategem of making women to feel down on themselves in order to bed them wasn't working.

One thing all the women in this piece have in common is they either presumably or explicitly weren't even in costume. And you'll notice (if you read the piece) the rather entitled reactions of some of the men- that they have every right to pick up on these women and get in their space, and it's the women violating some social norm by not fucking them or not being pleased with their behavior. 

You know what that is? Rape culture.

I've had countless instances where I was harassed on the street or in a mall or something. I've been followed into stores, I've been cornered in buildings. I've had men call me a "cunt" and a "bitch" for telling them something as innocuous as, "No thank you," (in a very timid voice, I may add). And all this while being overweight, not a "hottie" at all. 

And I've had people that find out ask  me if I was wearing a short skirt or low-cut top. I've had people ask if I fought back when I was raped (and some even say I "must not have been trying hard enough" when I say that yes, in fact, I did). As if I somehow was at fault, or at least partially to blame. I can't win- just by being a woman, I'm both a cunt for resisting, but to blame for not resisting enough. My only purpose is to please men, and anything that goes "wrong" with them is my own doing. 

This  is what conventions are like, only at conventions, it's concentrated and hyperactive. I think maybe  it has to do with the pseudo-anonymity of being there- it's not in the "real world," so inherent assholery and douchebaggery are magnified and less restrained. I think this is intertwined with the sexism in geek culture that gets so adamantly defended by men, too, of course. I've discussed some of this already; and my next "Girl Nerdery" post will most definitely tackle this from the pro-feminist perspective ala Anita Sarkeesian and the backlash anyone expressing dissatisfaction gets.

But men at conventions are, after all, men from the real world, so the contradictory/paradoxical assumptions about women irl translate to cons pretty smoothly. And I think the tight spaces and brief timeframe make the behavior in itself more extreme. If the idea of geek-culture is a boys' network, conventions are the closest to the tangible manifestation of that- so it follows for women at conventions to be mistreated and viewed as subordinate at best, as entirely lacking autonomy or individuality or even humanity at worst. 

There's this entirely false assumption by men at cons that women there are only present to provide entertainment and sexual gratification for them, the men. If women aren't buying into cheesy pickup lines, the reaction is, "Psh, women." If they don't want their picture taken, they're a "bitch." There's no second thought to asking them entirely inappropriate questions like their bra cup size, their sexual fantasies, if they'd go to the man's hotel room- it's deemed "harmless" by these men. 

Women in costumes are called names, judged negatively for being dressed as such, but they're also called similar things for not taking lewd remarks as complimentary. If they voice a complaint, they "shouldn't have been dressed like that, anyway."* And like  with the "fake geek girl" bullshit, they're assumed to now know anything about what they're there for.
Wearing a costume does not equate free gropes or open legs, let alone does the mere state of being female at a convention. Gay or transgendered doesn't mean a person's internal thought process is, "Please, please, make a comment about your semen winding up on my face!" Having ovaries doesn't entitle anyone else to the right to copping a feel. 

And yeah, I think a few reasons people should find this (more) disturbing (than they do) is the overall lack of response from convention personnel, the visceral reactions against anyone speaking out (the comments section on that Kotaku piece, for example, turned into a blob about how the dude that took the camera from the guy that took the boob-picture was the asshole last time I looked, for example- even men  trying to do something about it are attacked), and the way women are basically expected to expect that kind of treatment. Men aren't held accountable, women  are lashed out against, and we're supposed to remain silent. This last is the most disempowering: We're expected to literally take  it lying down in some instances, and it's a big shocker if we don't.

That's rape culture.

And I think one thing that's rather sad about it is the environments within conventions are entirely constructed and created by people, and those people do nothing, or not enough, to create a space free from harassment or violation; and people choose to go to these things without stopping to consider that maybe, just maybe their impulse is inappropriate and invasive. And  why should these guys tone it down? They don't face repercussions! 

Women at conventions aren't there for men to oggle. They're there because they're fans, too. And their legitimacy is questioned- it's a disgusting  double-standard that is entirely constructed at each convention. Wil Wheaton,  bless is nerdy heart, has this great quote from The New Statesman on his Tumblr:

"A man can wear a bow tie and a fez and he's in costume. A woman can spend hundreds of pounds or weeks of her time on an exact replica of an outfit a minor character wore onscreen for five minutes, whilst reciting  the Prime Directive in Klingon, and she's an attention-seeking slut."

I'd go further  and say that, should she decide the comments she's getting are inappropriate and  have the gall to say as such,  she'd be called even worse things. 

Now I've been to two conventions besides the one I talked about above. I was with a large enough array of people each time, and with enough men, that I don't think much, if anything, negative really happened to me- it would have stuck  with me. So make no mistake, I'm not saying every woman that goes to a convention is going to get slut-shamed, made fun of, propositioned, and attacked. But what I am saying is that it happens a lot, and when it does, it's a reflection of the values of society writ-large and geek culture specifically.

And that is rape culture. 



*Nevermind that the most popular female characters are also usually pretty gorram skimpily-clad, but that's a topic big enough for its own post.

It's Not *for* You, You Don' t Need One, Stop Complaining

I work in a clothing store for full-figured women. But, well, let me be blunt for y'all, in case you think I mean something like  this.

I work in a store for fat chicks.

The gentler ways to say it sometimes get people confused...? Why? I mean, duh. I'm not into saying "plus sized" when describing my store, though, because I get really pissed that an average woman is between a size 12 and 16 (and yeah, you could just say 14, but standardizing of sizes is so nonexistant that you really do need to provide a range), but sizes 14 and up are called "plus" and sequestered off to some tiny corner with selections that are extremely shitty, more expensive, and miniscule in variety in comparison to the rest of the ladies section. And my store? It starts at 14. We get a lot of women that aren't remotely "fat" in the pejorative sense, that need larger sizes because curves, not because they're gorging on cheeseburgers every meal. Never mind that some women (myself included) have medial conditions (sometimes more than one- again, me) that prevent them from getting what these judgy people would consider okay. Myself and tons of other ladies may exercize and diet like mad, and still be "fat." The smallest I've ever been since I was a kid was a 12/14, during a period of time (just before grad school) where I went to the gym for almost two hours six days a week and ate about 1000 calories a day, and my doctor told me to chill the fuck out before I moved out here because if I lost any more weight, given all the other stuff I have going on, I'd prolly end up in the hospital. Being that size was nearly unhealthy for me, but I was still getting "what are you doing  here?" eyes from women at the store when I was hovering around the XLs or looking at the back of a rack of something for the largest size there.

Fucking fat shaming.

Anyway, so we get a lot of mother-daughter duos in the store. Sometimes they'd  both be customers, sometimes one is just along  for the ride as the other looks for things that  would, you know, fit her for a change. Usually the thinner ladies are quite  kind and supportive of the heavier ones, but I do every now and then see the  latter get passive-aggressively poked at by the former. Things I've heard from the thinner gals:

"Are you done yet?  There's  nothing in here for me."

"Are you seriously  going to look at every single shirt? Just grab something, I want to look for [insert specific outfit/clothing article] for me now!"

"Wow, that's huge, it's a good thing you aren't that big yet!"

My reaction when I overhear it is often akin to this:

I've also been personally fat-shamed by some of the less curvy women as they waited for their companions to pay, try things on, etc. 

"So... you shop here to?" (or similarly, "Oh, I see you shop here, too. You must get great benefits.")

"I'm only  in here for my mom, all of the stuff in here is so ugly and frumpy." [as I'm wearing the style of shirt I'm also holding or standing  next to]

"Don't you think it's kind of silly they  even have this place at all?"

After a few seconds of this...

...I give some excuse to walk away, and do so quite promptly.

I had a real doozy last night, though. This time, the daughter was the thinner one (not always the case, by the way), and the mom was there for jeans. We keep ours against one of the walls, folded, and above them are some mannequins, as well as a few shirts and our current  selection includes some casual velvetten blazers with a really cute pinstripe lining  (grey and maroon on the outside, and if you fold the cuffs to show that lining, oh my gosh- adorable, really). So I was helping the mom decide what cut in the jeans to get and explaining that while we don't sell her length in the store, we have this great service where she can order it and have it sent to her house with free shipping, then return it to the store if it didn't work out. Mom was a little uppity that we don't sell Tall lengths, but I've had worse, trust me. Once she had a stack of jeans to try*, I offered to get her a fitting room. Her daughter, also tall, kind of aggressively positioned herself in my way to block me and said, "What's the smallest that comes in?" pointing at the blazers hanging high enough for her to reach  and look for herself (but not me- I'm 5'1", remember...). She went on, "I only see sixteens, and I really like that, can you get me a smaller size?"

I reached up, on my tiptoes to look and see if anything else was hanging there, as I started explaining, "Well, the smallest size we or any other Lane  Bryant is going to carry is going to be  a fourteen, and I was just in the back room, so I know for a fact that any blazers like this we have in this store are all out here right now. And it looks like the smallest left is a sixteen."

Let me just add, this gal was prolly about the same age as me, so nearly thirty. 

When I stood normally and turned to her, she was glaring, her nostrils flared a little. "Well that's not fair," she said sharply, then she turned on her heel and started stomping- literally, stomping, with her fists clenched at her sides- toward the fitting rooms.

I actually, and yes, to my shame, snortled a little.

You want to know what's not fair? The way heavy people are pre-judged as lazy, irresponsible, and a drag on society. The way we're forced to go out of our way  and then pay more for the same stuff, or for sub-par stuff, because society isn't universally designed, but rather structured to accommodate people not like us. It's unfair that I either can't buy stuff when out with friends, or have to go off by myself in order to do so, or that they have to wait for me to finish before looking for themselves again. It's unfair that someone saw the need to create a separate chain of stores like the one I work  at, amidst the countless other stores in existence, in the first place.

And now here's the kicker. I'm sure it's pretty easy  for you to understand why she's entirely clueless. Fuck, there are stores that deliberately do not sell clothes for women above a size 10/11. You've seen the signs that say "Women's Section" or "Plus Sizes" in stores. Maybe you even have a heavy friend that always has to walk away to look for clothes for herself, or that never buys anything when she goes clothing shopping with you, even offers to carry some of your bajillion bags for you because she's been unable to find anything (true story). And  hopefully, you at least understand why, and maybe it even gives you a twinge of moral outrage on behalf of your friend or any other woman like  her in that situation.

Well, let me blow your mind a little now, okay?

Just as how that gal complaining that it "wasn't fair" that my store doesn't carry sizes not considered "plus" was missing the point/misunderstanding the situation, the same  thing goes for men that demand a "Men's Center" in the face of a "Women's Center" on college campuses, or white people demanding a "White Cultural Center" in response to a Black/Native American/Hispanic/ etc. one. 

Just as how women like me get sequestered into our own sections in the stores we didn't design, and how non-heavy people often automatically draw negative conclusions about our characters because of our size, women and minorities in the larger societal context get marginalized and sequestered into places of lesser value, too. Women and people of color hold fewer executive positions, are lumped into lower-paying jobs in general, and are subject to every kind of violence- structural, physical, emotional- because of the fact that they are women and persons of color in the first place. 

Oh, Sir, you want a "Male Resource Center," eh? Go to the "Student Resource Center." Or the "Library." The strategies they'll teach you are catered to a male-dominant society and would be great for you, Sir, but oftentimes wouldn't help a woman. Women are taught how to deal with a society, field, etc. that is going to assume they're underskilled, their body isn't theirs, they don't belong there, etc. 

Oh, White Person, you want a "White Cultural Center," do you? Try the whole fucking campus. Or better yet, the whole fucking country. Your culture is the status quo, the norm, is so engrained in your everyday doings that you don't even see it there. Any resources a minority gets at their center are going to help them navigate through your culture, sometimes cope with how it devalues them as a person, simply because they're a minority.

I've also seen men get mad about places like Curves, and say that if the NAACP exists, there should be a NAAWP, too, so it's not like this only happens at college. Which makes sense- it's not like these issues fade away once college life is over. It's just easier to see on a college campus  because the power and room for grassroots organization is so much greater there than in society writ large; but that also means college kids are going to be uber reactionary and do shit like this or say stuff like the "Christina" in the comments  here without giving it a second thought. 

Now of course, there are caveats. Just as how some of my tall friends/ the tall ladies in my store from earlier, or reeeally short friends, sometimes have to look harder for clothes than my average height, thin friends, I realize there are axis of oppression that can make things hard for men and/or white people. Class, religion, sexual preference, gender, etc. But let's face it, intersectionality is a really complex issue, and to try and put it simplistically: Those tall/REALLY short friends of mine still have an easier time finding stuff in regular stores than I do. Period. Same difference with women/minorities in the broader societal context.

And, side note, "centers" for poor people, LGBTQ persons, atheists, etc., also exist. And they get the same reactions against them from rich people, straight people, religious people, etc. So what I'm saying here can really apply to any axis of oppression. I've just been focusing on sex and race because those are the most common ones with their own spaces.

"Centers" for  women and minorities (etc.) developed out of the fact that society is built in a way favoring men and white people (etc.). And no, I don't think  it's sexist or racist per se to think it's unfair for them to be created without a male/white equivalent, and a person demanding as such isn't inherently a bad person. I do think it means a person holding that viewpoint is missing the bigger picture. Be it willfully or genuinely, I don't know. But if they fail to see it's not about women/minority privilege, but rather the privilege of their (as in male/white) perspective, and that they aren't wronged by that center's/organization's existence, then they probably could use more education and better explanations. Hopefully, they'd be open-minded enough, receptive enough to understand how there's no need for a "Men's Center" or a "White Center." And hopefully they'd realize the centers they don't want around popped up because people saw a need for them- and that this need is itself kind of sad and something we should try to rectify. Hopefully they'd realize that by being male, being white, they are part of the hegemonic group(s), even if not in those exact terms.

And here is where I get into another complication. "Centers" often become places of exclusion. As in, sort of a, "Go be a woman/Black person/etc. there and get off my lawn," kind of thing from perrsons in the majority (men, white people). That is not okay, either. I think places like a Black Cultural Center are the most successful when they try to educate non-Blacks and promote inclusion in society. My store is great on body acceptance and showing that every woman is beautiful, no matter what her size; we may not sell stuff for thinner women, but we do promote solidarity among women in general in the face of a culture telling us we should be pretty in order to impress men- it's about women liking themselves for themselves, but yes, it is designed to help a particular type of woman that is told by  society even more than average that she's ugly. The various cultural centers on my campus seem to do alright- how well they do is directly correlated with their resources, though. Naturally, then, the center on our campus for Native Americans is the most isolated- they can barely afford to operate, so doing bigger campus out-reach is pretty difficult for them. But every now and then, they bring a speaker, show a movie, etc. They're trying their hardest, and that's what counts.

I don't want there to be a store like mine. Not because I want to run around naked, but because I want to be able to shop with my friends, stand right next to them and look at the same stuff. I don't want there to be a Black Cultural Center on my campus. Not because I don't care about Back people or POC in general, but because I wish they had the same opportunities and resources that white people do.

*Sidenore: She was also an example of the customer that asks for advice, takes something different from what's recommended first that ends up not working, then begrudgingly tries the recommendation and goes with that. For fuck's sake, you'd save a lot  of time  and me a lot of refolding and rehanging if you just went with what I tell you, ladies, UGH!

Forgetting (to Bring Home the Bacon)

I have a few methods, or non-methods, of shopping. Like most people, if I know precisely what I need and am not in the mood to browse, I'll head straight for whatever it is, grab it,  and get out. Surprisingly enough, this also applies to clothing (I know, hard to believe). Granted, I'm pretty good at dilly-dallying to no end in a retail store, but I really am quite capable of grabbing what I need, maybe trying it on, then heading to the checkout.

For example, my roommie and I wanted to hit Old Navy for the cardigan sale on Saturday, and even though  the Sephora was having a super-secret-preview day, I didn't buy any makeup; and at Old Navy, I only shopped cardigans for teaching (and refrained from a friggin' Chicago Bears one).

And I'm good at finding what I need in a desperate search- like a few years ago, when I was trying to find an outfit for my first real date (as in I met a guy, he asked for my info, and we went out a few days later kinda thing), I couldn't find anything at all the stores the gals I was with were dragging me to (because, well, uh, they were all petite ladies, and I'm, uh, not); when they finally let me go to the store I wanted after over two hours, it took me less than twenty minutes to find an entire ensemble, complete with earrings and bracelets, too. 

But groceries are another story. My roommate and I have this bad habit of going back and forth in the grocery store together- I don't think there has been a single food trip taken  together where we didn't have to backtrack at least once. Usually it's closer to four or five. I swear, I should start tallying it every time we shop and maybe we can set personal records or something together. 

I'll have you know, we do this even when we bring lists. We're awesome.

My mom is great at getting groceries, a total pro. She puts the stuff on the list in accordance with  the layout of the store. Granted, she doesn't do aisle numbers, but she doesn't really need to, she puts everything in the right order on the paper and gradually you see it getting crossed off if you peek over her shoulder. And this  is great, because  it means that very little impulse buying takes place- she gets everything on the list, maaaaaybe one or two extra things, and that's it. If only I were as awesome as that.

I've tried doing this before, but the grocery stores my roommie and I prefer are always changing  their layout, so what the frak? The only  things I can rely on are the produce and the dairy. Even the meat sections   have been shifting around (like I swear, the fish and bovine products swapped at our Payless last week).

Now, I could give a long, dry rant about how this is capitalism at work, a strategic ploy on the part of the evilgreedyomnipotent grocery store owners to prevent people like my mom from winning out. Because that's pretty easy to... buy.

Eh?

You right now.

Oh, fine.

So today, I went shopping for the first time whilst driving my new car (aaaw yeeeeeeuh, totally baller*), and I did another thing I'm pretty terrible/good at: I left one of the bags behind. 

My only excuse is I was distracted by the prospect of driving my own car again, but I know the reality is I'm just a pragmatically terrible shopper. I could have probably put a lot more down on my car if I had been able to put the money lost to forgotten bags toward the purchase. And I usually feel exceptionally stupid and guilty when it's at the grocery store, because usually they chase me down in the parking lot, and 2/3 of the time when that happens,  it's some adorable and sweet old dude that looks like he's about to have a heart attack because I forgot my gorram refried beans. 

Also, I forgot to get bacon today, and I had plans to experiment with bacon, pasta, and cheese. And I also forgot gifts for some parties I'm going to this weekend.

I guess I'm saying all this because it makes me wonder. In the future, what things will I forget and not be able to go back for? Lotion is one thing; what if I forget someone I took with me? What if I do something drastic like forget a friggin' child? I've had nightmares where I left River at the apartment by accident before and come home to find her barely alive. I'd never forgive myself if something  happened to her.

And there are things I've forgotten, like anybody else- birthdays, deadlines, phone numbers. But why is it we can forget to do things like put the friggin' coffee filter in the pot before pouring the grounds (true story), and  why is it so easy to forget the good times, when we can't really force ourselves to forget the bad things? I mean, sure, we may "suppress" memories, but that's never a conscious thing- if there's something we want to forget, any conscious effort fails.

I wish I could forget some of the things that have happened  to me before. I have nightmares about forgetting River, but I have nightmares about my past, too. But in different ways, like they're sequels- dudes  that have rejected me are doing it again after first telling me they made a mistake before, dudes that have assaulted me are around and laughing and flirting with me as if it ain't no thang, family members  I'm on the outs with are cussing me out, but over something stupid like I left the Nintendo (NES) open (something I NEVER DID FOR THE RECORD). 

But do I really want to forget? Like I've said before, everything I've been through has made me who I am today. I'm not perfect, but nobody is. I'm a damn good person, at least. 

In the disability course I'm taking  online right now, there was a whole segment on "fixing" disability, and what I liked about it was that not every person with a disability interviewed for the segment said they wouldn't take a magic pill  to get rid of their disability- a lot of them, most of them, wouldn't, but two said no, I'd rather not have this thing. And this reminded me that we all grieve and cope and... deal... differently. And while I'd never change my siblings and remove their disabilities (which some people just can't fathom), I'd support them if a "cure" somehow came up and they wanted to go for it- as long as they could at least keep their memories.

Because I think our memories of our past are what shape our character in the present. How we remember, what we do with and because of those memories. It's not the thins themselves, it's what we do with them. So getting rid of the disability wouldn't change the person in the metaphysical sense. What would cause the change is how they reacted to not having a disability any longer. But blotting out or getting rid of experiences themselves, that's a little different. While I wouldn't want my siblings to experience any more of the hardships they've encountered, I wouldn't extract ones they've had already. That may sound amoral or sick, but those experiences have made them wonderful people that bring more joy to me and anyone else they know than the grief their disabilities may have caused. 

And so that's why I guess I don't really want to forget. It'd be nice if I could sleep, but when I'm awake, my past makes me a kind, loving person. 

I guess the cool thing is I can swing by the store again tomorrow at my own volition and get the stuff I forgot. And going back to the store is kind of like making the choice to be a good person and try to help people.  I can't change my past, and I can't make myself remember stuff like bacon any better. But I can shape my future, and I see a very delicious future ahead. It looks something like  this:

*I was FB chatting with a friend earlier tonight and tried using that word. I spelled it wrong. For a Native American chick, I'm so gorram white...

Well I Guess This Is Growing Up: Cars Edition

I love cars. When I'm rich someday, I plan on having enough cars to change them out the way I change out purses or shoes- cars to match my mood, my outfit, the occasion, the weather. Some styles I hope to have:

The Aston  Martn Vanquish, for those times I'm feeling
particularly sophisticated, cheeky, and/or British

Dodge Avenger, muscle car with  the same engine as the Charger,
at about 1/3 of the price, and  with a glowing endorsement
from Richard Hammond; for when I want  to feel tough

Ferrari 458, for those times when I'm feeling feisty or playful and just
want to have fun, dangit

Dodge Caravan, because I intend to have a litter of children,
but  want to drive something that isn't a POS when
lugging them everywhere

McLaran Spyder, for when I want to look like I'm
going faster than I actually am

A Mini Cooper, for going out with  my friends

Mazda 3, for everyday commuting, errands, etc.

And last but not least,, a Lambo Gallardi,
because it's basically the Goddamn Batmobile

In order to afford all of these cars, I'll probably need to marry Bruce Wayne. Not that I'd mind. I've dreamed it, myriad times, so literally a dream come true, amirite? Eh? 

You right now

Okay, sorry.

Confession Time: I didn't have a license until a little  over a year ago (and its acquisition, that's a fun story in itself). I learned to drive over the course of college, between college, and grad school. And how did I survive without a car, you ask? Well, in high school, my closest friends all had cars (or there were enough of with them going to whatever that carpooling wasn't a problem, and even ones with cars would "bum" rides). In college and during my two off-years, I either only had to walk a couple blocks at most to get to things, or lived with people that took me with them during grocery runs and the like. Then here in grad school, either the bus system picked up and dropped off literally right in front of my apartment complex or the academic building in which I work, or I had a roommate (or person in my complex) going to the same thing as me. 

So I honestly didn't need  a car. And since I didn't need one, I didn't bother getting one. Money basically stopped being a problem once I started grad school (kind of ironic, since I'm in the department with the lowest-paid students, 'natch), so I started dillying  with the idea of getting one eventually some time in the future before leaving Indiana...

Then my parents got a divorce and my mom and siblings moved to a place about a days' worth of driving away. Minnesota, to be precise. 

And remember, I have a dog, so flying her anywhere isn't something I was looking forward or, really, willing to do, anyway.

And then I got this part-time job at a clothing store (which I'm prolly going to have to start writing about because ohmygod retail). And it makes me feel positively terrible to ask my roommate to get me to and from there. And taking the bus is exceptionally icky- not that it's difficult, it just means I have to get up that much earlier, get home that much later, and I usually end up blowing at least an hours' worth of pay at the job waiting for my shift to start or the next bus once I'm done (because I'm either about to start a shift that runs through a regular meal with no break, or I've just come off one doing that and am thus either anticipating or fighting off Hungry Bear Syndrome).
So I started seriously looking for a car. I called insurance companies, I researched, I thought about the features I'd need, etc. I decided I'd prolly want either a Mazda or Subaru, for the hatchback and four-wheel-drive capabilities: I need storage for River's stuff (I swear to God, that dog's crap would take up a whole bedroom of its own if it wasn't spread around the apartment... I spoil her), good handling for everyday driving, and all-wheel drive for being in harsh winter conditions, as I'll be visiting Mom and the young-uns for Christmas and thus driving in fucking MINNESOTA SNOW. Color wasn't a priority, but I'd be happiest with silver or chrome because I just like those on cars the most (see above pics...). I wanted something under five years old (but I wasn't thinking new, either), with less than 70,000 miles. That seemed possible, given what I found online in the area, but nothing under like $18000.
So, loan time! 

And guess what? I got declined. Not once, but twice. I went to both my new bank and the bank I've been with for nigh ten years now, and both said my disposable income isn't enough. I also was told it had to do with my credit score- both banks said I was at a mid-level B. And the reason is some outstanding medical charges that have been kicking my ass since April when my insurance company started giving me the run-around on some tests I had done with my ladydoctor. I'm still working on them, but it's docking my credit score down a few hundred points. The banks did say I could move forward if I had a cosigner, though. But I basically resigned myself to a fate of working for the rest of the year at the store and saving up to buy a junker because I had no one to cosign with me. I mean, that's not the kind of thing you ask anyone but, like, direct family to do for you. I had a few friends hint they'd be willing, but I cut them off because no, just no. 

So as a last-ditch effort, I made plans to visit a lot over the weekend, just to see. I was aware that car dealerships are slightly less... uh... picky about financing, I was just trying to avoid it because the lots in town all advertised rates as "low" as... like 8% interest or higher. Ew, right? The banks were less than half that. My mom promised she'd get someone to pick me and River up for Winter break, but that wouldn't solve the work problem or make me feel any better. So, one more try. I got ready, arming myself with a few thousand I'd been saving  for this purpose to put  down to help entice the dealers.

Yesterday: As my awesome roommie and I started walking into the office at the dealership, which happened to be a Subaru lot owned by the one overarching company, I casually mentioned how a car we were passing was basically what I had in mind: silver, hatchback, 2011, Subaru. I told this to the gentleman that started helping me, and he took us outside to look more closely, and... well shit. Yeah, that is pretty good... We went back inside so he could run the specs and he came back saying, "Actually, I think this may be The Car for you." He went on to tell me it was only $14000ish and had only 60,000ish miles on it, that it had belonged to the wife of a man at the local Subaru  factory, so it had received pretty gentle use. So he went to the financing dude and gave him all of my info and took me and my roommie out to the car so I could test drive it. 

I loved it. It was smooth, quiet, and I felt very much in control. Other cars I've driven with either rear- or front-wheel drive feel like they're struggling against you- the steering wheel tugs and tries to turn itself. This car, I did all the work, and I liked that. It was my first time driving it, but I'm pretty sure the turns I made in that car were at least as smooth as my smoothest with cars I'm very familiar with (i.e. my mom's car, or my roommie's). With a little more familiarity with it, I could make turns smoother than  a baby's bottom.

Also, it's one of those models that comes as automatic regularly, but has a function where you can switch to manual. So while I said, "For people pretending to be badass?" aloud to the dealer, internally, I was thinking, "I can learn manual, ohmygodIwantedtodrivemanual and felt like a sellout when I learned on automatic!" I was warm and tingly the whole time I was driving it.

Yes, I wanted the car. 

When we got back inside, the loan dude still wasn't ready. And so, naturally, I started to cry. 

Because I'm cool like that. 

And I explained I'm sorry, I'm just nervous, I've had a LOT of crap to deal with in the past couple years, and I'm afraid my medical bills are going to make  this impossible, if I don't get a loan from the dealership now, I won't be able to get a car, period, etc. So the dealer, since I had mentioned I needed space for my dog, started talking to me about his dogs, and we spent the next like twenty minutes trading dog stories (with  help from my lovely, supportive roommie). Then the loan dude came out and said, wagging his fingers in a "follow me" way, "You, with me," and proceeded to some offices in the back. I about pissed myself when my roommie didn't follow. Ohmygod I have to do this part alone? Can't she be there to hold my hand as he tells me no?

"Is this good news or bad news?" I asked as he opened the door to the office we were going.

"Well," he said, "that depends on the kind of day you've been having. If you've had a great day, this is going to be about average. If you've had a crappy day, this'll be great news."

"Well, uh, it could get better...?"

"So then you'll be happy!"

I was so nervous, I didn't understand his cryptic way of speaking. "So, uh, what's going on?"

He laughed a little and said, "You've got a loan."

And a thumping good one, at that. For only 4.3% interest. 

Inorite????

I didn't get to take it home with me because insurance and it needs some tires replaced, but here, ladies and gents, is my new-to-me 2011 Subaru Impreza:

But man, being an adult and stuff SUCKS.

All of the paperwork I had to sign at the lot (which wasn't even all that much, since I had no trade-in or anything), all of the paperwork for getting insurance, all of the paperwork I'll do with the BMV... I mean... Damn,.