‘Nutmeg is gansta!’ declares the beautiful young Jamaican woman standing around the kitchen counter with the rest of us. We all laugh. It is hard to look hot while wearing a hairnet and latex gloves, but Tauni (not her real name) is definitely pulling it off. This jovial scene is taking place at a second stage shelter for abused women. Continue reading
I am writing this post at a Travelodge near the Calgary airport. ‘What on earth is she doing there?’ you may be wondering. ”Is it filthy?’ Well, yes and no. Last Sunday, my partner returned from his company’s golf tournament and jubilantly announced: ‘Honey, have I got a great romantic getaway weekend for you!’ Okay, so anyone who actually knows me or my partner has realized that this is bullshit. The only time the word ‘romance’ is used at my house is in a despisingly sneering manner, while saying no to movies starring Jennifer Aniston and yes to films made by drug-addled Germans. Continue reading
Like a key chain at the fair when you don’t break any balloons.
Still exhilarated by my free gym pass—the charming man behind the Planet Fitness counter had refused my open wallet, defying the yellow pages quote of $20/day—I am standing under a sign that reads ‘Judgment Free Zone.’ A mere four days after my competition, and against the advice of QMR, I am ready to work out, heavy, hard core, American style. Last year I was reprimanded for sporting a tank top in an Ontario branch of this franchise, but here, in the good old US of A, my armpits breathe freely. No one tells Americans what to do with their appendages! Continue reading
The first is from GlamPro (thanks hottie!):
“Everybody loves a freak show!”
This is the phrase that my partner uttered as we climbed the steps of the Citadel theatre and saw the long line-up of fans waiting to see the pre-judging for the Northern Alberta Body Building Championship. I love my partner dearly, but despite a long history as a queer activist, she has a judgemental streak that sometimes isn’t pretty. I will admit that watching my dear friend FFG transform herself from an admittedly very fit gym rat to a muscled, tanned, bleached and otherwise buffed figure girl was at times a freaky process. Continue reading
I’m sure you have all heard American comedian Jeff Foxworthy list clues revealing that ‘you might be a redneck…’ For instance, ‘If you think that loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk, then you might be a redneck.’ Good one, Jeff. I have my own version, based on recent experiences with lifting heavy things at the gym, eating chicken for the past five months, and constantly studying my ass in the mirror. In a sincere effort to avoid becoming a complete diet bitch, here is my latest stab at fitness humour:
Signs that you might be a bodybuilder:
1. Your clit is bigger than a medjool date. Continue reading
Feminist Figure Girl's Blog 