I suspect one reason I let myself get so fat was because of the catcalls.

I've suspected the same. I don't like being fat, but I liked unwelcome male attention even less.

That's something I've been running around in my brain lately. In a vague sort of way, since I don't *actually* want to deal with it, but eventually will. Probably.

I didn't get the life stories of everyone that came to the krav school, but I did meet at least one woman who'd dropped a lot of weight, and now that she was no longer invisible in the way she'd become used, she felt she needed to be able to fight. I'd take martial arts training and a concealed carry permit to handle this shit myself.

Ooh. Dinner was spiced pound cake, and dessert is egg nog ice cream. Mmmm.

I'd take martial arts training and a concealed carry permit to handle this shit myself.

Which I have considered. But have not done.

Never got as far as the permit, because I was waffling so hard over the gun. Leftie gun, rightie, which way to go?

Okay, that ice cream needs to eaten with something, clearly. This pound cake is perfect for that, Win. But for all that, I missed the window to call home.

It is time for me prepare for my early morning ER trip. I don;t believe I have it in me so stay up much longer.

I've suspected the same. I don't like being fat, but I liked unwelcome male attention even less.

I wonder how many men don't realize that a lot of women interpret catcalls as a veiled threat of sexual violence. Gavin de Becker's The Gift of Fear should be required reading.

I'm still a bit overweight, but twenty-five pounds ago, I didn't get creepy guys proposing to me on the street like I do now.

For me, anyway, street harassment was way worse in DC than anywhere else I've lived.

I took a long nap this afternoon, and now I can't get to sleep.

I'd take martial arts training and a concealed carry permit to handle this shit myself.

Which I have considered. But have not done.

Right there with you. And I have spent many a moment considering the wisdom of getting involved in a community that is a sex thing (even when people say it isn't -- and I say that a lot -- it really is, COME ON NOW), when I don't want to be seen as a sexual object by anyone other than by boyfriend.* And people need to learn them some goddamn boundaries, I tell you what.

*(I get that I exist in the world, where people in the elevator with me, or at the gym, or in the deli, will look at me and very likely objectify me. Not that I am All That, but because it happens to pretty much everyone at some point. Anyway, I can't control those situations if I want to continue to have a job and grocery shop and whatnot. But I *chose* to get into a sex-oriented community, and in so doing, increased my exposure to the potential for creepy unwanted sexualization by about a billion percent.)

I wonder how many men don't realize that a lot of women interpret catcalls as a veiled threat of sexual violence.

Or not-so-veiled, like when they turn into "Hey! Why are you ignoring me I was just complimenting you, YOU BITCH!"

...uh, not the compliment you think it is, Scary McRaperson.

The thing is, no matter what kind of community you are in, be it sex or cooking or knitting or general or those-people-who-like-lichens, the bottom line is that women by and large get objectified and no matter how empowered you are or whatever, no matter how much you could beat the shit out of the objectifiers, it still ain't right. They're the broken ones. We have to live with it. And that shit stinks.

no matter how empowered you are or whatever, no matter how much you could beat the shit out of the objectifiers, it still ain't right. They're the broken ones. We have to live with it. And that shit stinks.

Goddamn fucking right. (I'm listening to the Proopcast, please excuse the profanity)