Thursday, March 29, 2007

The Year of Yes (Maybe)

I decided this is the ‘year of yes’ which means I am going to go out on dates and actively put myself out there in the hope I meet someone decent.
I have an amazing ability to attract losers, ask my friends they see it happen helplessly from the sidelines.

So with this new found positive attitude (note: does not mean I trust them though) I accepted a guy’s invitation to go out for a meal. And lets say this, he aggressively perused it because I was a little reluctant and I quote “I don’t really want to have a relationship over the phone or the internet, I would rather go out for some good food and a nice glass of wine”

Sold to the girl whose last date was in a bed shop, yeah, yeah don’t ask.

This guy is 36, good age not young and stupid and not too old, he was a lawyer, which while this doesn’t really float my boat; he could at least hold a conversation and had a sense of humor, oh boy did he have a sense of humor.

So we meet in a posh restaurant and we chat, and well there’s nothing much between us but it’s cool, and then guess what he tells me at the end of the night….

“I’m married and I am not going to leave my wife”

(My jaw hits table) Oh and then

“But we haven’t had sex in 3 years and I thought being as you’re not from America and you might go home at some point that you might be looking for something more casual”

FUCK YOU MOTHER FUCKER

I left after telling him that I have met a long line of twats in my life and he’s just joined that line, and now I can understand why he can't speak on the phone or the internet because his fucking wife is in the background. But man when I got outside it was snowing hard and it was such a pisser to try and get home, all the time I can see him driving up and down the road looking for me. I get home and my amazing house mate goes give me his fucking number I will get him back. So she calls and says that I left his number incase of emergency and that I had called some 40 minutes ago crying and she can’t find me or reach me on my phone. That she needed all his details because she was going to phone the cops, she kept this going for 2 hours, and believe me girls he shit is pants good and proper and has never got back in contact.
So the year of yes gets off to a good start! Bring it on boys give me what you've got.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Curiosity Killed my Love Life

Ok, ok so one of my bezzy mates told me off for not posting on here in ages, the truth is I have been drunk for many weekends running. Last weekend I over did it and decided that factor and the amazing decision my tosser boss made that I should get up at 5AM most mornings to do the early shift, my life had to change. So with hangover and 5AM start combined they formed into an ugly reality pill, I decided to stop smoking, drink socially once a week = 1 glass of wine and to stop everything else which is making me look and feel like Britney Spears minge. Its only been a week, but good god do I feel better.

So this has been playing on my mind recently, only because for some reason lodes of men have been asking to be my ‘friend’ on myspace. I know it’s a completely wank site, people should just use msn it’s quicker, but I guess you can browse through the many images of people from the safety of your own computer. And I guess it’s an innocent playground to flirt and meet people, I do know of one person who met someone through it and now their moving in together, sounds like the movies only not in my world….
So I have been on myspace for some time, only because I honestly didn’t know about it and my friend was like “whatever you loser, everybody knows about myspace” so I joined and apart from some men in Nigeria telling me I looked like the god fearing woman they’ve always wanted to meet? No one really paid me any attention, until and this is the only factor I can think of I changed where I live from London to New York. Now I’ve heard the dating scene in NY is vicious, they even have Jdate.com (Jew date) and for those of you who are ‘dwarfs’ there’s even a dating website for us, I haven’t joined because I am too tight to pay and I see most of those people at some organized event during the year, I don’t need to pay to read their lies. Whatever, if its right for you do it.

But, and there’s always one of those I have a few issues, some of them substantiated by life’s experiences and others built up in my mental imagination. I don’t hide the fact I am small on myspace, there’s a photo of me ‘full length’ and I say in the basic details I am 4 foot, but you would be surprised how many people miss those minor details, and don’t want to know when they do. But besides this and the new found sense of confidence so many men seem to have behind a computer, I know this when they call me ‘sweet heart’ on their initial ‘hello’ message, which is probably something they wouldn’t do in real life. My problem lies with the ‘curiosity’ factor, that little feeling at the back of my mind which makes me weary on the computer and in real life of the intention of men, what they want and the reasons they want it. We’ve all heard of those men who turn up at amputee conventions, I even watched a documentary on men who liked to watch amputee’s struggle i.e. their example was a girl trying to get on a li-low in the pool, it turned them on! And we’ve all seen those adverts for ‘midget porn’ like small people having sex is any different to a black woman, average height man or a gay couple (apart from the way they do it). I mean who really sits there and says I know what lets look up some midget porn?

A man who was actually classed as the living dead, who lived in a launderette and spat in a bin all day, once said to me “I’ve never fucked a midget; I’d like to fuck you”. All these things sound funny to someone who isn’t a 4 foot woman, just doing her thing and wanting respect.

So here’s the thing, a very hot young guy, too young 19 but how flattering, myspaced me and wants to go out for a drink. Some women would jump at this, because good god girls he works out and he’s all that and a bag of potato chips. But all I can think is, that he’s sat there with all his 19 year old mates, who are saying ‘go on I dare you, fuck a midget’. This might actually not be the case, some of these men maybe really good people, I might be on to a winner how the hell would I ever know unless I meet them, how would I know unless I met them many times and even then you can be married 40 years and never really know someone. But I might have met this person on a train had a great conversation with him, and when I left taken his number. But somewhere between the train and work my mind would start saying, why was he speaking to you…was he with people….does he just want to see what its like with a small woman?

Definition of paranoia is:-
The dictionary A psychotic disorder characterized by delusions of persecution with or without grandeur, often strenuously defended with apparent logic and reason.
Extreme, irrational distrust of others.

So what’s the answer people, I’ve got good reason to feel this way, and men have got no reason to prove me wrong or to gain my trust, how do you know when a hot 19 year old asks you for a drink because he fancies you, that you shouldn’t just go and have that drink, (if you weren’t detoxing that is)

Monday, November 27, 2006

WORD

That's my new street language now I am padding the blocks of New York. Its been a bonkers month of trying to acquire a social security number to finding an apartment on the grid system (which is a whole story on its own).
One advert stated what I really want out of a potential house mate is someone who will sit down of an evening and talk about the meaning of happiness. Needless to say my expression of happiness would not come in the form of speech, but more like a big stick.
But alas I think I have found an apartment with a cool girl (shouldn't say that too soon) which is a very good size for New York in a safe area at a good price, and grown up of grown up things I have to buy my first bed. I've been out on the raz most weekends and had an amazing thanks giving dinner, with specially brewed liquor whipped up in a shed in Ireland. So all in all as moving countries goes and thanks to some sound mates its been pretty smooth.
Except... Oh and you knew ones of those was coming didn't you
The crazy, crazy men who I wouldn't touch with a shitty stick seem to wanna touch me. I had the most amazing semi conversation/argument with a mutant who was far too old to be wearing the biggest jeans you have ever seen and a leather jacket with a beer logo plastered across the front. I was sat opposite him on the train and he kept looking, nothing new there so I look out the window as to not encourage him. Only he decides he can sit right next to me and say can I ask you a question?... Before I could say
"naff of Perry and go have it large somewhere else" he says...
"Do you go with regular guys" say what
I was like in my best New York accent "Oh no you di-int just ask me that honey"
well actually I was like why the hell do you want to know and do you really think you've got the right to ask me that, along with are you gonna ask that woman over their if she goes with black men. He just kept saying "I just want to know". Right there's many things I was to know, but you can't always ask them and that's life.
I said to him "what the hell is a regular man anyway?"
Someone whose not short apparently so he informed me, uh huh!
I kept going at him, but he didn't move or offer to shut up, but he did try to justify it by saying
"I didn't mean to offend you, because I have a daughter too"
OK, so now it all makes total sense and how much at ease you have put my mind when all along your a father whose asking perverted questions to someone you don't know on a train. I have however discovered a way to get rid, after the third disgusting man with no teeth rocks up along side me and says "I take it you got a boyfriend"
I just shout "for the love of god shut up pleaseeeee" and this approach seems to work and we go our separate ways.
Just quickly before I sign off a lovely man shouted across the road to me
"Honey your a giant in my eyes"
My friend answered "you don't wanna know what you are in my eyes"
Why am I not that quick off the mark.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Go sister, Soul Sister!



These women can be hired out and they will dress up in a variety of costumes, right here we have the 'Moulin Rouge'!!

They will come to your club and entertain your guests while they wait in line, or have a little bop on the dance floor, all for you and your friends.

For the love of god need I say more! What are me and my good friends who are dwarfs up against? How unbelievably negative in the year 2006

Thursday, October 05, 2006

The Ivory Trade

In the winter of 1955 on a Cleveland bound bus in Alabama, a middle aged seamstress named Rosa Parks ‘Sat down, in order that the black community might stand up’ . What she did that day sparked the painfully slow trickle of something we call ‘equality’ For Rosa Parks was tired of being humiliated, of having to adapt to laws that others passed on as tradition, that reinforced the position of blacks as something less than full human beings.

Mrs. Parks had previously attended an interracial leadership conference at the Highlander Folk School in Monteagle, this meeting is what gave her the strength that day to say no more, no matter what the cost, and it did cost the black community. A shy and retiring women, often overwhelmed by her own status and fame, she worked hard for her cause stating that "she hoped only to inspire others, especially young people, to be dedicated enough to make useful lives for themselves and to help others."

Lets fast forward to this sweltering summer of 2006, where standing up on the bus for someone apparently ‘more superior’ then yourself is a distant almost non-existent memory. Actually giving your seat up to anyone in need, is a rare occurrence, especially in the big smoke that is London. Racism isn’t dead, far from it, but that trickle of equality has become a steady stream and at times a dam bursting river within our multi-racial society. I am not ignorant to its existence, its perhaps far more subtle than it used to be all those years ago, but lets not forget only last year in 2005 the tragic and sickening death of black teenager Anthony Walker, who was axed to death at a bus stop in front of his white girlfriend purely because of the colour of his skin. We hope such incidents are to be rare, but I am sure there are many less serious events, but none-the-less important, which go unreported everyday that people of colour endure privately.

So my story moves to July 29th 2006, a warm and humid evening where I am walking down a busy London road in the affluent neighborhood of Islington, I am just about to a board a bus with one of my best friends after a fun evening out. Like Rosa Parks my story didn’t start on this bus, it was just one of many incidents that drove us both to despair, but unlike Rosa Parks my actions will not change the face of a nation, and like many people in this society its my pain to endure privately. For I am a women, a sister, a daughter, a human but more importantly to others, and importantly for myself but for different reasons I am a ‘dwarf’. It is not a condition, or an affliction or a deformity, it is quite simply me, as is being black, or gay, or a women.

Ironically, the 4 foot 2 inches I stand in my bare feet, make me stand out in the crowd, something that should she be alive today Rosa Parks would have some understanding of. An unwillingness to be a voice, or an icon but more importantly I know she would have recognized my ‘need’ to be accepted as a ‘full human being’. So on this busy evening I realize that a group of black girls who are behind me are talking about me. They are commenting on my looks in a derogatory manner and referring to me as ‘the dwarf’. I am a dwarf, but I have a name I am not ‘the dwarf, I cannot be defined solely as ‘a dwarf, just as Mrs. Parks, wasn’t just ‘a nigger’. I realized they were addressing me and I turned to face them, but we weren't on an equal level from the start for more reasons than one.

I asked her what she said, she replied "where do you get your clothes from dwarf".
She boarded the bus with her gang of girls, who were by now bothering the other passengers, she was no small girl, in fact she was not a girl but a young women. she repeated this several times whilst towering over me, which in its self intimates as if you were still in the school playground. My reply was pathetic, but my friend and I are all too aware of the consequences of fighting your corner, I said nothing. She proceeded down the bus and sat facing me on the back seat, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes and my stubbornness to hold them back.

"Somebody ask that dwarf where she gets her clothes, go ask her where she gets her clothes,

Oi dwarf where did you get your clothes" she carried on shouting down the bus.

This may not seem like an insulting comment, I guess you had to be there to see it. It was how-ever addressed to a packed bus on a busy Friday night as the bars kicked out, my humiliation was now public. People were watching it like a game of tennis, looking at her for the comment, and me for the reaction. I just looked, and I expressed my distress to my friend but not loud enough for her to hear. One man, small and slightly built shouted "she doesn’t have to tell you, shut up" but his reasoning didn’t even reach the back of the bus. I looked at the bus driver who had pulled over to let others on the bus, he acknowledged my problem but did nothing.

"Please do something, can you call the police, if she was racist you would do something" was all I could say to this man who was out of his depth. He did nothing. Sadly a middle aged black women who was sat alongside me apologized for the ignorance of her people, and this pure fact alone made me so angry and I realized how one person’s actions represent a whole section of the community for all the opposite reasons Mrs. Parks Stood up on that bus.

I was singled out for a difference which is very much like being black on a bus packed with whites. When the girls had left the vehicle and provided a safe distance the passengers expressed their disgust, which is so pointless when what you need most is people to unite behind you. When Mrs. Parks did what she did she took a risk, but her people provided the crutch she needed to fight on, in today’s society rarely do people get involved unless from the safety of their arm chair or from behind their PC. The scars of people’s words always stay with me, they burn like no one can imagine, people seem to have very little realization that all to often we remember harsh words rather than the comforting ones which drive us forward. For those of you who were taunted at school, and remember each hurtful comment as if they have left their own individual mark upon your body, my play ground bully has never stopped.

Don’t get me wrong, this behavior isn’t exclusive to the black community, I grew up in a small town, where me and the very few multi-racial people who lived there, were subjected to daily abuse. I guess I always wish that the black community might know better and draw from their own experience. But then history has a proven track record of never learning from experience, the same hatred for difference is harbored and executed in many different ways, we only need to look at the Palestine/ Israel fighting and the situation in Iraq.
Perhaps as a friend pointed out it is this treatment that pushes people to treat those lower down the pecking order as they have been treated themselves. And yes others may say this behavior is lack of education, broken homes and violent backgrounds and bad parenting, but this is racist in its self. Credit people with more intelligence, for they really do know what is right and wrong. Those inner city children grow up among more difference than any country child would ever know. For London is a melting pot of nationalities, abilities, colour, sexuality, disability, illness, poverty, wealth and so much more, and the bus doesn’t discriminate we all sit together. It is also extremely racist to assume that most black children come from un-loving, unsupportive parents who don’t know right from wrong. Yes those parents do exist in all nationalities, but it is not exclusive to the black community. I cannot begin to imagine what some of the UK’s children face when they return from their school day, and how they must imitate this treatment in all their relationships, but this aside doesn’t excuse people or make it hurt any-the-less. For I could use that excuse for all the abuse I have been subjected to and take my frustrations out on others, but I know that hatred of others doesn’t actually improve your quality of life, it truly ruins it.

What is sad is I don’t want to feel this way it is wrong and I know it is. There are rays of light which shine through and cause pangs of guilt for my banding people together in one group. Only the other day I was at the supermarket and a gang of black girls were watching my every move, I could feel their eyes boring into me. And I felt small and bothered and defenseless, only to find two of them approach me and assist me with the packing of my shopping. And once on a bus I turned to face a small girl looking scared at me, and her mother who was black genitally said ‘say hello she’s just a women’. And its these people that make the difference, only to be un-done by the gang on the bus. It is like pulling lose stitching, unraveling to reveal suspicion, fear and the judgment of others, when sometimes it really doesn’t need to be that way.

Dwarfism is the oldest recorded disability dating back to the bible, so you have all had long enough to get used to it. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you when I board your bus, or enter your shop or drink at your bar, just as it shouldn’t if I was black. Anthony Walker’s mother said after her son’s killing,
"This is absolutely terrible, we cannot change our colour."
How very sad a statement but understandable in such distress, for her son was the last person who needed to change. Just as I a women, a sister, a daughter and a person with a disability should never wish to be different. One should never assume that because you wouldn’t want to be that person, that they themselves are not happy.

And many years after Rose Parks sat down, so black people could stand up she said ‘she had gained strength to persevere in her work for freedom, not just for blacks but for all oppressed people.’

And she was right, her beliefs extended past her ‘own’ people she understood that the treatment she received was often received by many others both black and white, stating

"There comes a point where you say, No, I'm a full citizen, too. This is not the way I should be treated."



Wednesday, September 20, 2006

The Malboro Man

I was in a night club the other day and I asked this guy if I could have a cigarette, because a waitress has managed to clear our whole table of tobacco. He obliged and I said thanks.
Then at several intervals through-out the night he kept popping up to me and giving me a cigarette, very generous.

After a while he said “I like you, (pause) because once I weighed’ (I can’t remember what he said here, because it was in a unit I never use, but lets just say it was a lot) and obviously he had lost lodes of weight. “I was so ashamed and I never went out” (at this moment in time he was getting on down to some fat house tunes.
“And you” he said, “You just don’t care what people think”.
This sounds like a double edged sword of a compliment to me? wasn’t quite sure how to take it, so I took another fag.

Two Thumbs Up

Aside from friendly Londoners, something happened a few weeks back which I realised has happened many times in many cities, and it really annoys me.

When I go out clubbing, and I mean real clubbing till midday the following day, which I used to do lodes and sometimes if a bank holiday comes up and my knee’s can handle it I don the dance floor now and again. In my state of good times when I am getting on down with the fittest gay men (only ever go to gay clubs) someone, normally a sad patronising straight couple walk up to me, pass me or into me and stop, smile and give me the thumbs up! As if I have just boarded the sun shine coach or learnt to tie my F-ing shoe laces.

What is noticeable is these people are not dancing, they are actually making a bee-line for me to tell me how good it is I ventured out of the house, and ‘ah bless it can actually dance’. My friends normally look at me or them and do a cross eyes expression and yawn because it is really boring, so BORE OFF.

Sometimes when the music is sweet, I give the dj the thumbs up and they normally do it back, its an appreciation of how bloody good the music is, and its only going to get better. But I don’t go up to gay, fat, black people who have ventured out for the night and give them a pat on the back and a ‘Keith Chegwin’ thumbs up for being brave enough to disco the night away. I know this sounds miserable after I have just told you how nice it is when people help, but honestly if you were there you would understand and it would make you want to vomit.

Once I was in a gay club in Birmingham, and I am so annoyed at myself for not putting my foot down with this women and telling her how wrong she was.
I was waiting in the toilet with a small friend of mine, and this women said ‘I think its so great that people like you come out and have a good time, all the people I care for are so miserable and never do anything’ Finished if off with a smile and a thumbs up.
‘People like me! she was Asian, I could have reversed that baby round if I wanted to.
GOOD GOD, I wanted to tell her that people like her shouldn’t be caring for others, and had she ever considered there are reasons why people don’t feel confident in going out, and why the hell was she a carer anyway, she was just so typical of social services, a
do-gooding knob. It made me mad, but instead I said ‘thanks’ I deserve a smack for that.

There are some very cool people out there, I’ve met lodes where no such stupidity ever comes into a conversation, and as I have got older people have got cooler because although slow, attitudes are changing. But even if you think I am ‘great’ or ‘brave’ or ‘hot’ on the dance floor, don’t act like you’re the care assistant from ‘Little Britain’ because I might get a bit ‘Vicky Pollard’ on you.

Friday, September 15, 2006

London Town

Recently more people have been going out of their way to help, not in some cheese ball, badge wearing, care assistant type of way in cool ways which make life go more smoothly.

Like stopping me when I look in confused in boots and guiding me to the isle, or just asking if I want my suitcase carried up a flight of stairs and a really cool women asked if I would like to swap seats on the bus, because she had noticed I didn’t have a seat in front of me and when your feet don’t touch the floor, learning on the seat in front keep you on your own seat (if that makes sense)
She did this without being a dick about it, and actually we got speaking and she helps people relocate to the states and gave me lodes of useful information.

What I mean by this blog is, some ‘disabled’ people get annoyed at others offer to help and yes sometimes when someone asks me “do I need a straw to drink with” I give them a look! But sometimes I need someone’s help, like getting things down in a super market. And I know this is a careful balance in which so many people are scared of offending someone by asking if they need help, but if you bite someone’s head off then they won’t ask the next person. And I know we should be able to ask for help when we need it, but how cool is it when you get to the underground and someone says I’ll carry that down for you, in a normal casual helpful way.
And I don’t care what people say, Londoners do care I have met some lovely people, ones that guide me around a club looking for my best friend when he has gone missing again, one’s who swap seats on buses with me, ones who say good morning and fetch the things I want in my local shop and generally helpful friendly people.