So. Over the weekend, I found out a married male Facebook acquaintance had taken one of my (very innocent) Facebook photos without my consent and used it as his profile pic on a porn site. It’s likely been there at least since February. His soon-to-be-ex-wife called to tell me.
1. I haven’t been my most demure in the past year. So I was frankly relieved it was just a photo of me in a tank top rather than, say, the photo of my naked back down to the curve of my hip I’d sent to New Lad, or similar pics I’ve sent to others that could’ve made it online. (I’m the first to admit my judgment hasn’t been great this year as far as sexting.)
2. Other friends are involved in worse aspects of this story, so I know I’m overreacting, and that this feeling will pass. But for now… I rarely feel dirty in a BAD way, and I can’t say I’m a fan. When some random dude scanned my body up and down at the coffee shop today, I wanted to crawl into some oversized sweats and hide.
Bonus: I don’t know if my Porn Pal resized my photo just to fit the site’s parameters, or to make me look thinner, but it was definitely stretched. So it’s possible I’m too fat for porn fiends. SUPER.
I’m sure there’s a size and shape a woman can be where my grandfather WON’T see fit to comment on it. But I have not yet found it. All of us are either “too thin,” are “losing weight” and should “keep it up,” OR have “put on a few pounds.”
It starts when you’re about 10; end age to be determined. (Grandmom is 83, so…not yet.)
Thanks, Granddad. You wanna kick in some cash for my next therapy session?
I don’t know how it’s even possible I still find this stuff remarkable. This is a family that regards weight loss as a “bright side” of having cancer. The fact that I manage to have more body-confident days than body-conscious days is a goddamn miracle. (A miracle I often fight myself for. But a miracle all the same.)
I’d finally sorted through SOME of the shit rolling around in my head, at least enough to decide I want to continue living and working where I am (East Coast), rather than moving away and starting over completely.
So obviously I just scheduled a phone interview for a job in Orlando. Because why wouldn’t I?
I may not want to have children, but seriously, if I find a guy sexy and then I see him snuggling a baby or playing trains with a kid, all sensitive and nurturing-like? I’m going to fuck that guy senseless at the first available opportunity, preferably the minute we get home to my child-free apartment. We won’t even make it to the bedroom — we’ll have to do it in the entryway (which…entryway…heh), because that is your privilege when you don’t have kids.
Good LORD. I thought I was dead inside, but that tingle in my barren baby garden begs to differ. Begs. Pleads, even. UNF.