While I was on tour, I started a note on my iPhone. It was entitled “Shows to Watch.” In my normal, non-tour life there are only two shows that I watch religiously: Dexter and The Biggest Loser. Everything else that I happen to see is usually a result of one of the following:
-It happens to be on TV while I am at the gym (hence my ridiculously high exposure to Say Yes to the Dress… errr… I would NEVER watch that show of my own volition… or something).
-My roommate DVRs it and our DVR isn’t nearing the 90% threshold, and he therefore has not gone through and deleted things he knows I might want to watch. (A favorite story: One day, I came home and he told me he had cleaned! Oh joy! “Yeah, I cleaned out the DVR”… which means he caught up on his TV watching. Hilarious.)
-It’s a truecrimedrama type show (Law and Order SVU, Criminal Minds, Cold Case) and I am with/missing my mama (she LOVES these kinds of shows).
Anyway, I arrived back in New York yesterday and had an overwhelming amount of unpacking to do. [Imagine nearly EVERYTHING you own packed into one small hallway closet. As I opened the many tightly packed suitcases and rehung countless jackets/sweaters/dresses, I vowed that I would NEVER complain about not having anything to wear ever, ever again.] Obviously, this unpacking monotony was the perfect opportunity to begin to tackle my “Shows to Watch” list. I had given Girls a chance before (I think I watched the first episode while simultaneously facebooking and texting), and had just sort of thought “meh.” Since the Golden Globes success (and the general public’s enthusiasm), I decided to give Girls a second go.
I watched all of season 1 and the first episode of season 2 yesterday. (I guess I liked it more than the first time… or something).
Remember during Sex and the City (or… even now…or in the pilot of Girls) when people would talk about what character they were most like? Obviously most people think they are/long to be Carrie. (This is only the result of the fact that her character is the most developed, in my opinion.) I find that practice annoying. I’m not going to go so far as to claim to be a “Hannah”, but I felt shame in how much I identified with her character. [Who wants to be Hannah? She is about as far from Carrie as you can possibly be! </snark>]
I suppose that’s sort of normal, right? Once again, she is the most developed character. She also is a twenty something, flailing through her New York City life. It’s sort of unremarkable that I, of a similar existence, would identify with her. I guess I’m most intrigued by the fact that I feel shame about that.
I’m sure that the shame stems from the fact that Hannah is an “undesirable” in our society. If I identify with Hannah, does that make me equally blobby?
On New Year’s Eve, I went out with a friend in the thriving metropolis that is the San Francisco suburbs. It was anticlimactic. At 1:48, while we were peacefully sipping our end-o-the-night waters in the corner, the bouncer told us it was time to leave.
Me: Sir, this bar doesn’t close until 2:00.
Bouncer: It’s 2:00.
Me: Uh. No it’s not. It’s 1:48.
Bouncer: No it’s not. It’s 2:00. [He holds up his phone which clearly says the time is 1:48]
Me: Your phone says 1:48!
Bouncer: Yeah. It’s time to go.
[Honestly, we were just trying to sober up in the corner. We were drinking water. And the bar was still full.]
Me/My Friend: It’s fine. We’ll leave. At least we’re not going home alone like you.
[It’s foggy who actually said this. I don’t know why either of us would, but one of us did. I’m pretty sure the implication here was that he was just a mean person.]
Bouncer: I’m married. And besides, I would NEVER take your fat ass home.
We walked to her car. I fumed. [Anyone who knows me knows that I can get riled up REAL fast.] She settled into the backseat to continue the sobering up process. I stormed back to the bar.
Me [pointing at Bouncer]: Can I have a word with you?
Bouncer: Uh. Sure?
I proceeded to hand him a piece of my [somewhat inebriated] mind. I told him that in a society where women are bombarded by ridiculous body expectations and images of unattainable beauty standards, it’s shameful that he would fling the term “fat ass” so nonchalantly, unapologetically. I surely belabored the point more than necessary because, well, I had consumed a few cocktails to ring in the New Year.
I have infinite body issues. My weight fluctuates a lot. I emotionally eat.
And sometimes when I’m drunk, I will dole out my liberal, feminist, wanna-be body-confident propaganda.
PS I wrote part of this entry while going to the bathroom. Put that in the Hannah column.