Sondra
One story:
I was working as a location manager on a very small-budget, local film.
This was my first feature-length film gig and I was excited to be a part of it.
I didn't know the Director or any of the crew as I was new to the area. After a
month and a half of working on pre-production, it became obvious to me that the
Director and many of the crew were incredible misogynists (hindsight makes me
cringe at my own ignorance.) I weighed the options of living with it to the end
of the short term project with the alternative of confronting it and risking my
first filmic experience becoming a wash. Until this point, the misogyny had not
reached me and I chose to ignore it since the women involved were not going to
stand up for themselves. Then one day, speaking with the Director in his office,
he told me about a Camera Operator that I had not met, coming in that day to
shoot some preliminary tests. He and the producer then began talking about how
big her tits were. We got a call from a the Casting Director who had stumbled
upon what he said was perfect for one of the locations we had not yet filled.
The three of us left to meet him to see it and when we met up with him, the
three men resumed the conversation about the size of the Camera Operator's tits.
I've been in enough situations to have a good idea that they were trying to get
at me but I really had better things to do. This part of the job was mine and I
went about the business of counting outlets and checking the space for
relationship to the scenes needed for that location. I guess my lack of interest
in their game got to them because on the ride home they again resumed the
discussion and the Director turned to me and said "You know, Sondra, there's
something irresistible about you too. Do you know what it is?" I asked, "Could
it be - my mind?" and he replied, "No, it's your eyes." To which I replied,
"Well, that's just because you haven't seen my tits yet."
I'm a thirty-six year old divorced woman who has spent her life carrying
what often seemed to be a lone torch. I've done many "normal" things but always
in not so normal ways.
I've done (and am still doing) the mother thing (both children are too old
to be calling me mommy) and the marriage thing (he was also too old to be
calling me mommy.) I've learned to rely on myself for what I need. I'm raising a
girl and a boy to be a woman and a man (it's surprising how rarely this seems to
be the goal.) I've found it particularly interesting how many people who would
gladly accept the woman that I am were I not raising children, honestly believe
that these same attributes cease to be such when applied to motherhood - as
though nurturing and teaching or loving and high expectations cannot coexist. I
have a small group of friends who think I'm fun and funny, admirable and gutsy
and have cultivated relationships that exclusively allow for the maximum amount
of honesty this side of cruelty. Miraculously, when I set the bar, I found what
I was looking for. These people are male and female and all are strong thinkers.
Although I'll admit to still adding the final touches, I consider myself an
individual human, who is busy building my world among and with the help of
other individual humans who happen to want the same kind of world - one where we
take the time to see individuals and to present ourselves as such.
Unfortunately, many other humans are presumably too busy to do so and instead
must use the shorthand of stereotyping in order to define what they can't quite
grasp.
So yes, I think the Heartless Bitch label has been superglued to my
backside more than once and, lately, I'm thinking it kinda hides the cellulite.
Looks like home here. Can I stay a while?
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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