American boobs

I bought a white dress for White Wednesday on the playa, envisioning this kind of outfit:

I got it to replace my last white dress which had seen better days.

The new dress came in the mail and, well, it came in a bag marked “Made in China” on it.

Oh no!

That means the dress is made for Chinese boobs.

Not my massive G-size American boobs.

But I decided to try it on anyway.

And wouldn’t you know, it fit.

Sort of.

I’m trying to decide if there’s too much side boob or too much underboob to wear on the playa.

Now, I know that Burning Man is clothing optional.

Clearly I could (and occasionally do) go topless.

And between you and me, sometimes bottomless too.

But I want a white dress to wear for this occasion.

So tell me, what do you think of this top?

Glorified Stickers

I just have to share.

Have you seen ads for “strapless bras” floating around Facebook and Instagram?

I sure have.

They have been LEAPING out at me.

As someone who likes to wear dresses with plunging necklines and dresses that are backless, I struggle with how to contain “the girls” properly.

Going braless is like setting 6-year old twins loose on a trampoline – they’re all over the place and someone eventually gets hurt.

Mind you, I’m dealing with a 38G bustline.

Which is NOTHING compared to my cousin, but that’s another blog post.

In any case, I’m always amused by these ads.

They typically include women with smallish busts, slapping on the self-adhesive bra, then pulling the laces between the “cups” together to create more cleavage.

I scoff.

But the other day, I saw a woman (I think she’s Ice-T’s wife Coco) with SIGNIFICANT CLEAVAGE advertising one of these bras and I had to watch.

Sure enough, she RAVED about the bra and how WONDERFUL it was at creating cleavage – but it was clear that she didn’t need any help with CLEAVAGE or LIFT as her breasts were LARGE and SYNTHETIC, not natural.

They sat up on her chest like perky little cupcakes.

That would NEVER work for me.

Because it’s not cleavage that I need, it’s LIFT.

Something more like this makes sense:

Needless to say, I didn’t buy one of those lace up bras.

I appreciate that they give a certain amount of coverage, but let’s face it – it’s nothing but a glorified sticker.

BOOBS!

michelleYes, this is a(nother) post about boobs.

The other day, a friend of mine told me that her nickname is “Boobs.”

Not surprisingly, she has a very impressive rack.

When I first met her, she was wearing a skull corset that set off her assets to PERFECT display.

And the other day at her birthday party, a friend took a group photo then made a point of zooming in on her cleavage and showing the rest of the group how LOVELY it was.

They ooohed and aaahed over it.

I felt sort of awkward, sitting at a table with modestly endowed women modestly dressed, being one of the few women there with impressive cleavage and rather immodestly putting them on display.

The woman sitting across from me told me she’d kill to have boobs like my friend and I.

I started to picture all the ways in which having big boobs is an asset:

  • Sneaking booze into concerts
  • Stuffing money/lipstick in your bra
  • Hiding sushi when you’ve taken too much at the all-you-can-eat sushi bar
  • Talking your way out of speeding tickets
  • Filling out a bikini
  • And so much more. . .

Sure, they often come with a bigger butt and thicker thighs but overall, I LOVE my boobs.

They’re one of the few things I actually LOVE about my body.

So score one for the well-endowed.

And cheers to “Boobs” for inspiring her friends’ admiration and awe!

Wearing Wasabi

ImageThe sign at the all-you-can-eat sushi bar said that if you order more food than you can eat, you will be charged the a-la-carte price for your sushi.

This weighed heavily on our minds as my sister and I surveyed our table filled with sushi. We were stuffed to the gills and were trying to figure out how to make 20 extra pieces of sushi disappear.

Oh my god, could we do it?!

Being the honest sibling, I just started eating sushi… doing my best to just chew and swallow and not think about how full I already was.

But Lisa, being a little more clever and deceptive, opted to take a different approach.

SHE SHOVED THE SUSHI INTO HER CLEAVAGE!

The waitress came by to check on our progress.  I noticed sushi peeking out of my sister’s cleavage. As the waitress spoke to us, Lisa’s eyes were getting bigger and bigger.  The waitress left.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“Listen, we’ve got to get out of here so I can get rid of this sushi. The wasabi is BURNING MY BOOBS!”

Farewell soft pillows of my body!

I’ve always imagined that I look peaceful and sweet when I sleep.

Like a dainty little goddess floating on a sea of pillows.

Of course that was before The Swede took a picture of me sleeping on New Year’s Day and shared it with me.

Furrowed brow.

Bundled in blankets.

Pouty lip.

Not exactly the picture of sweetness and light I was hoping for.

Lately, I’m unimpressed with all pictures of me.

There’s just a little too much round and not enough angles.

But that’s on remedy, since my Medical Weight Management program starts today.

Nothing like going on a 960 calories-a-day diet to make a person slim down post holiday season, eh?

Sadly, I am fearful I will lose my butt and my boobs in the process, but it’s something I must live with if I want to be healthy.

Farewell soft pillows of my body.

I’m gonna miss you!

What I hope men think about when they’re having sex with me

Sometimes I wonder if the inside of a man’s brain sounds like the lonely buzz of a fluorescent light bulb.

In reality I suspect their brain cells are working like pistons, constantly firing.

Given that I have my own internal dialogue during sex, I can’t help but wonder:

What would theirs be?

I’m sure it must be more sophisticated than just “boobs, Boobs, BOOBS!”

Sex is one of life’s simpler moments. In the presence of my naked body, I hope a man’s mind becomes pretty stimulated and his mind takes off. Here are the thoughts I HOPE a man could have when he’s in bed with me.

  1. Damn! I forgot to shower. Not that I mind a whiff of musky body odor during sex. I just like the idea of a man who wants to prep for me.
  2. My god, these are perfect! Hopefully the best breasts are the ones that have recently been exposed for his enjoyment.
  3. I should remember this for later. Taking a mental picture of me for later. For.. you know… solo activity.
  4. “Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd …” I was once told that men sing this song in their heads to hold off the Big O so that they can last longer for their partners. I like a man who wants to extend the play.
  5. Play it cool. I want a man to think he’s totally in charge, even when he’s not.
  6. I wonder if she’d be cool if I tried ______? Every guy has his own bag of tricks and I want to be shown his.
  7. Where did she learn THAT?! I have my own moves and would like to think that I manage to blow his mind once or twice.
  8. So, um, was that an orgasm? When men orgasm, you know it. It’s a show. So I can understand their confusion when, after I orgasm, I just keep going like I’m the Duracell bunny. He doesn’t know if he should keep going? Wrap things up? WHAT TO DO?!
  9. THAT. JUST. HAPPENED. Men may not show it afterward but they’re pretty excited. Nothing else matters at this time. He has me in his arms and his brain is stewing in a bath of feel-good hormones.

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.

Fashion Trend Disaster: The Bralette

I don’t know who came up with the idea that it would be a great idea to give women bras to wear as tops without any other article of clothing and call it a BRALETTE, BUT I THINK IT WAS A MAN.

Actually, I’m POSITIVE it was a man.

Because what better way to get your rocks off than watch women run around in bralettes with ABSOLUTELY NO SUPPORT WHATSOEVER!

It’s INSANE!

Do I sound irritated, because I am?

I just did a search for “Burning Man” on Pinterest and at least 75% of the clothing that was listed was these stupid fucking non-bra bralettes.

I can’t wear a bralette.

I can barely find a bra that fits which is why I often stuff the kittens into too-small bras that make them look like muffins sitting on my chest.

I say I’m a D cup.

My friend Barbara begs to differ with me. She says I am AT LEAST A DD.

Regardless of how big my tatas are, one thing is for sure:

If you see me wearing a FUCKING BRALETTE, at least half my boobs will be hanging OUTSIDE the bralette.

OUTSIDE.

As in so much side boob you’ll swear you’re seeing nipple.

And so much underboob you’ll swear you’re going down on me.

I suppose what I’m truly ranting about is just simply getting older.

No one really wants to see a 43 year old woman wearing a bralette unless she’s a fitness model or a former Playboy bunny.

So consider yourself safe. I will not be walking around in a bralette at Burning Man.

Not in this lifetime.

I may be walking around naked, however.

Rant over.

 

 

“Boobs”

michelleYes, this is a(nother) post about boobs.

The other day, a friend of mine told me that her nickname is “Boobs.”

Not surprisingly, she has a very impressive rack.

When I first met her, she was wearing a skull corset that set off her assets to PERFECT display.

And the other day at her birthday party, a friend took a group photo then made a point of zooming in on her cleavage and showing the rest of the group how LOVELY it was.

They ooohed and aaahed over it.

I felt sort of awkward, sitting at a table with modestly endowed women modestly dressed, being one of the few women there with impressive cleavage and rather immodestly putting them on display.

The woman sitting across from me told me she’d kill to have boobs like my friend and I.

I started to picture all the ways in which having big boobs is an asset:

  • Sneaking booze into concerts
  • Stuffing money/lipstick in your bra
  • Hiding sushi when you’ve taken too much at the all-you-can-eat sushi bar
  • Talking your way out of speeding tickets
  • Filling out a bikini
  • And so much more. . .

Sure, they often come with a bigger butt and thicker thighs but overall, I LOVE my boobs.

They’re one of the few things I actually LOVE about my body.

So score one for the well-endowed.

And cheers to “Boobs” for inspiring her friends’ admiration and awe!

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Come for the boobs, stay for the brains

Behave.

It’s what I tell myself every single time I go on a date.

Don’t try so hard to be sexy.

Just be yourself.

But somehow I always find myself making playfully suggestive comments to my dates while smiling innocently at them.

Or giving him a lap dance at the beach (true story).

Or wearing something very low cut and suggestive.

I’ve come to the conclusion that being bad is just way more fun.

And it’s much easier than talking about meaningful things in my life.

Who wants to hear about my son dying from cancer? Or about my job struggles?

None of that is entertaining.

If I didn’t flirt on dates, what would I do with myself?

How do you figure out if there’s chemistry? What makes a man want to get to know a woman?

This is a mystery to me.

I figure when I partner up with a boyfriend, it’ll be because he just happened to stick around past all the great stuff (i.e. my cleavage and bedroom antics) to discover all the extraordinary stuff underneath that.

Come for the boobs, stay for the brains.

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