Big Jugs

Every since my bra fitting where I got diagnosed as stuffing 38G jugs into 38DD bras, I’ve been thinking about boobs.

I had a friend who wore a 36M bra.

The thing about it was that since she always wore loose fitting tops, it wasn’t that easy to figure out that she was massive in the mammary department.

I remember the first time I saw them.

She was at a friend’s house and needed to borrow a bathing suit to go in the hot tub with the rest of us.

While wearing the ill-fitting borrowed suit, she turned sideways and I got a whole eyeful of side boob.

And BOY WAS THERE SOME SIDEBOOB!

Sideboob for miles and miles.

36Ms really are something to behold.

The thing is, she wound up having reduction surgery.

And in order for your insurance to pay for it, you need to have a certain amount removed from each breast.

Something like 400g or so.

I can recall the first time I saw her with her 36B boobs.

It was the first time I’d ever seen her in a tank top.

She was happy, but I was a little forlorn.

I missed her Ms.

There is a happy ending to this story though. . .

Fast forward a few years and we run into each other accidentally in a winery.

And lo and behold, THEY GREW BACK!

Yes indeed.

I think this happens quite frequently with breast reduction surgery because I have a couple of friends who have had the procedure done and they all seem to still have VERY LARGE BREASTS.

Which makes me very skeptical of the efficacy of the surgery.

It just goes to show, you can try to reign them in, but in the end, boobs have a mind of their own.

Last Minute Tim Burton

At the last minute, I’ve decided to go to a Tim Burton costume party.

The thing about it is, I don’t really have anything Tim Burton-ish.

I’m not a fan, you know.

I know. I know.

Who doesn’t LOVE Tim Burton?

Well, his movies always make me feel a little bit off, and it takes me a day or two to lose that out-of-sorts feeling.

I LOVED Corpse Bride, though.

So I looked for a Corpse Bride costume. . .

. . . and couldn’t find anything that would reach me in time.

Next?

Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice!

This I can maybe fudge.

So I got a black and white striped under-the-bust corset.

To which I’ll add my black steampunk skirt or my black and white striped ringmaster leggings.

Add a frizzy white wig.

And a cute little chapeau.

And voilá

Beetlejuice á la Michelle.

Bra fitting

Last Saturday, Barbara convinced me to go for a bra fitting at Nordstrom.

She lured me in with the promise of the best Taiwanese dim sum at Din Tai Fung.

They have a Michelin star.

And boy was the food awesome!

I licked my plate clean, I swear.

But on to the bra fitting.

I went into a fitting room with Debbie, my Nordstom bra fitter.

I got topless.

She pulled out her measuring tape and measured me. . .

. . .  and declared me to be a 38G.

Holy shit!

G?!

I didn’t even know that boobs could grow that big, let alone that they make bras that big!

All along I thought I was a D.  Perhaps a double D.

But Barbara knew better.

Debbie proceeded to find me bras and helped me try them on.

Odd being topless around a fully clothed stranger, but okay. . .

In the end, I bought one bra.

For $100!

Apparently well sized bras for big boobs don’t come cheap.

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Do I like Vikings?

Do I like Vikings?

Vikings like this one?

Or this one?

Why yes, I think I do.

The Swede is descended from Vikings.

So am I, as least in part.

Maybe a Viking and a Scot fell in love a long time ago and to them I owe my whole existence.

Maybe a Viking PLUNDERED and PILLAGED a Scot village a long time ago and to that I owe my whole existence.

In reality, the story of my conception is pretty damn cool.

Two eighth graders fell foolishly in love and whoops!

Made a baby.

The Swede flies in on April 30th and we’re set to go on a date.

If he’s not too jet lagged.

I’m looking forward to seeing this modern day Viking again, just before UnSCruz.

The big news is. . .

. . . I have kicked Tejas out of our tent so that we can have some privacy.

Don’t worry, I’m bringing a backup tent for Tejas.

He was bummed when I told him but said it was predictable.

“Think of it as a way for you to get your own privacy too,” I hinted.

So there you have it.

I’m finally willing to admit I MAY want privacy with The Swede.

And by God, I’ll get it!

Celebrities who should fall in love with me

My cousin, aunt, and niece went to Walker Stalker and got to meet several of the characters from The Walking Dead.

Now, the first thing you need to know is that I stopped watching The Walking Dead after the second season so I HAVE NO IDEA WHO ANY OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS ARE.

But I know that there’s one character I love – Negan, played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

I LOVE Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

He’s right up there on my list of celebrities who should fall in love with me.

Right after Mike Rowe.

And right before Charlie Hunnam and Travis Flimmel, who I incidentally think are twins separated at birth, they look so much alike.

I know JDM from his role in P.S. I Love You, where he played Irish musician and rescuer William. I also know him as John Winchester in Supernatural.

I recommend seeing him in P.S. I Love You because he shows off his naked rear end in it and OH MY! Is it a sight to see – all long legs and slender ass!

He can wander my halls in nothing but a towel ANYTIME.

So back to my cousin, aunt and niece.

I’m INSANELY happy that they got to meet JDM and hope they managed to give him a kiss from me.

They did snap this photo which, I must tell you, made me grin from ear to ear the moment I saw it.

It just makes me insanely happy!

It’s hard to date a blogger

It’s hard to date a blogger.

ESPECIALLY one as transparent as I am.

EVERYTHING goes on the internet:

You will usually find me blogging about whatever is on my mind from the men who capture my fancy, like The Swede; to past lovers who I remember fondly, like Jay and Charlie The Aussie; to men I fantasize about but can never have, like Alexander Skarsgård and Joe Manganiello.

IMG_9379I’d like to think I’m more of a lover than a hater. Unfortunately, the hate tends to be funnier than the love, like when The Hunk had an epic skill/equipment failure in bed with me.

IMG_9378I’ve been advised that the reason I’m single is because of this blog.

That might be true but I can’t help but feel like deep down, my blog will actually draw in the right man for me.

Imagine how nice it’d be to have all your experiences and secrets in one place where a person can read about them.

My thoughts. My hopes. My frustrations.

If a man can get through my blog posts AND STILL be interested in me, then he passed the test.

And the thing is, PLENTY of men like this blog and read it.

So there’s hope.

There’s a reason this blog is called unblunder…

Because everything seems wrong at first until it suddenly turns beautifully, epically RIGHT!

Creep

creepOkay, the first thing I’m going to admit is that I can’t hear the word ‘creep’ without having Radiohead’s lyrics to “Creep” ring through my head:

“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here.”

The truth is I know a lot of creeps.

And I’m okay with that.

I used to get the willies from creeps but that was only until I met creepier creeps.

SUCH AS:

A 50+ year old man who admitted to me that he finds teen girls sexy.

Super creepy!

I can’t even LOOK at 20 something year old young men without thinking about my own sons. So. Not. Sexy.

OR:

Another man who told me he steals ladies panties from the laundromat.

Uber creepy!

So I’m not talking about super creeps and uber creeps – the ones you want to take out restraining orders against.

I’m talking about your garden variety, run-of-the-mill creep.

  • The guy who gives off that funny vibe that makes you feel like you’re standing naked in front of him.
  • The guy who has “horny” written all over his face and you can just tell he’s imagining doing naughty things with you.
  • The guy who you know would get down with you in a millisecond, regardless of where you are and who you are with.

Dare I say it?

I find those guys kinda charming.

Some of my closest friends would probably classify themselves as creeps, in one way or another.

I find something transparent in creeps – as if their deepest desires are barely veiled from the world, ready to be let loose at a moment’s notice.

And it occurs to me that perhaps my fondness for creeps is because I TOO AM A CREEP.

  • Awkward.
  • Giving off a weird vibe.
  • Sexual frustration just brewing beneath the surface.

Yes friends, I’m a creep.

I’m a weirdo.

But don’t you find me the teensiest tiniest bit charming?

You do now, don’t you?

The one where she buys SUPER SLUTTY SHOES

I took my second Lap Dance class this Thursday with my imaginary boyfriend.

Once again, it was me in a room with several scantily clad ladies.  The instructor wore a g-string.  Sometimes I just sit in class and let myself be amazed by the beauty of the women around me.

We practiced our routine.  By now we had the beginning part down.

  • Lay your “boyfriend” on the bed.  Prop up his head so he can watch you.
  • Start out by doing a little routine against the wall.  Don’t forget to open your legs. 😉
  • Go to the bed and play with your “boyfriend.”
  • Don’t forget to SMEAR your body against his.  SMEAR. SMEAR. SMEAR. I love that word.
  • Rotate your body to give him a side view.
  • More smearing. Do it slowly.
  • Rotate your body to give him the back view.  Nice.

And that’s where we stopped.  And somewhere in this whole routine, I realized that my shoes were not nearly as sexy as everyone else’s.  I realized that in order to be an effective lap dancer (or at least to look the part), I needed to get a new pair of shoes.  So I went online and bought these puppies.

And I can’t really describe how happy these ridiculous shoes make me feel.  But I do know that there’s something about their absolute frivolity that appeals to me and resonates with my inner diva.

Dating Pet Peeves

1

Bad tipping.  Maybe it’s because I worked in foodservice in high school and as a barista in college, but bad tippers are my pet peeve.  I once went on a date to a fancy cocktail lounge where the bartender takes 3 – 4 minutes to mix and muddle the perfect $14 cocktail.  On a $30 bill, my date left a measly $2 tip.  I hastily dropped a few more bills on the tab when my date wasn’t looking.

2

Being late.  I waited in a wine bar for my date to show up for almost an hour once.  I ordered my first glass of wine and the waitstaff felt so bad for me they gave me a HUGE pour.  When my date arrived, he received a SMALL pour.  Ha ha.  Divine justice, if you ask me.  There was no second date.

3

Bad kissers.  You’d think by the time we reach 20 we’d know how to kiss but no, there are people out there that still suck face like amateurs.  I have little patience for someone who is a bad kisser.  If you can’t figure out it’s a game of mutuality instead of tonsil hockey, I’m done with you.

4

Bad breath.  Oh god, you know what I mean.  I once went on a date where I could smell his breath from across the table.  I always carry a discreet packet of mints with me and I wanted to discreetly suggest that he eat them all.

5

Being negative.  You know who I’m talking about.  That person who will list of 10 things that are wrong before they list one thing that’s right.  Mr. or Mrs. Downer.  It’s exhausting and draining to be around them.  Next!

7

Being self-absorbed.  I went on one date with a fireman.  He was so into himself his head fairly floated above his body.  If at the end of the date he could’ve told me anything about me (like my name), I would’ve been shocked.

8

The alcoholic.  This is the person who sits down across from you and then drinks nonstop throughout the meal, barely pausing to eat and breathe.  Or they talk incessantly about all the parties they throw/go to and how obliterated they’ve gotten.  Yawn.  We’re not 21 anymore.

9

Being rude.  There’s nothing worse than going to a restaurant with a date and watching them be rude to the waitstaff.  This drives me completely batty.  Again, I worked in foodservice so I know how hard it can be.  I do not trust a man who is nice to me and rude to other people.

10

The cell phone addict.  I once went on a date with an attorney that was so horrifically bad – involving two standard poodles and a 6 year old.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, he kept answering his phone.  We barely said 10 words to eachother.  I’m still traumatized from that date.

The Swede, kissing and UnSCruz

OMG, she’s not going to blog about The Swede again, is she?

Yes.

She.

Is.

Because he’s handsome, funny, and shy and that all adds up to make him pretty fricking irresistible to me.

He’s CHARMING.

Lord knows I don’t meet enough charming men.

Ones who want to cum in my ass and on my face (two things which do NOTHING for me), but the charming ones are few and far between.

The Swede also kisses like a board certified expert.

Trust me.

I’ve kissed a lot of men.

The Swede is EASILY in the Top 5 best kissers of ALL TIME.

The best kisses suck you into them so all you can think about is their mouth on your mouth.

They curl your toes and maybe, JUST MAYBE, get you a little juicy.

That’s what it’s like to kiss The Swede.

I swear I want to just melt into his body and feel every inch of him against me.

I may get my chance at UnSCruz seeing as how we are sharing a tent together.

I warned him the other day, “There will be ropes. We’re staying in a BDSM camp.”

He replied, “I’ve never done that but it could be fun.”

This is exactly the attitude you need to have going into a Burning Man event: open minded, ready to have fun, curious.

“There may be nudity,” I warned him.

Yours or mine?

I think The Swede will have a great time.

I told him my wish for him, “I hope you have a mind blowing good time.”

And I do.

I really do.