Day 12 - Something you never get compliments on.

Never is very definitive. I never get compliments on the symmetry of my ears, although I think that kind of compliment would have me backing away slowly lest the person pulls out a carving knife and tries to add them to his collection. Or hers, I guess. Woman can be serial killers, although it is statistically much less likely and they typically have different psychological disorders that cause them to kill. Yet I digress.

Compliments. As I said, never is really impossible. But how about not as much as I would like.
My parenting. I rarely get complimented on my parenting skills. I don't parent for other people, I do it for my daughter. So I shouldn't care. She tells me I am the best mommy ever, but she doesn't really have a basis for comparison, and besides, I make her say it. So yeah. Not so much, although I love it anyway.

I am more strict than is the current fad and I know sometimes it can make people uncomfortable. I don't yell often and I'm not a spanker, but I mean business and she knows it. I just don't buy into the whole "let them run free and they will choose the right path" philosophy. I wouldn't. So we have rules. And consequences. And talks. And it must not be so bad. She is intelligent and funny and confident. She is proud that she makes great choices. She can eat out with strangers and go shopping without problems.

People tell me she is wonderful and well behaved and one of the best children they have ever met. They often say it in that tone that says, "so don't expect so much from her". To them I say, how do you think she got that way? I mean look at the husband and I. It sure as hell isn't genetics.

The funny thing is that I have been talking about this post topic with the husband and he has taken sympathy on me. I sent him a picture of her finished Halloween costume and he texted back that he would have been lucky to have had me for a mom. Which sounds much creepier than it seemed at the time. And he's been calling me "good mama". Which also sounds kinda odd. Anyway my point is that his little attempts to recognize my parenting skills have made me feel like a good mama. Which makes me even happier to be around my daughter. Which in turn, makes me a better mama. I hope.

Happy Halloween

They were having a meeting

Day 11 - Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

This depends on how well you know me. If you know the me I want you to know, you always tell me I am really confident and strong. You marvel at my openness and my fierce independence. You will say I am nice. You are also going to tell me I have a great bedroom voice and fantastic breasts.

I ignore most of that. I mean I do love people saying I have great breasts because it's the only physical thing I ever really get compliments on. Also I love being told I have a phone sex voice, it makes me feel all vixen-ish. But the breasts are going to droop and the voice is a by product of a very de-feminizing reproductive and metabolic disorder which causes me to produce an excess of testosterone, giving me a deeper voice. So eh.

If you know me well you know I am not confident, or open or independent. I am also not really that nice, although I do want to be. . . most of the time. You will still probably think I have a great bedroom voice, and if you know me REALLY well, you will also think I have fantastic breasts. So fine.

The thing I get complimented on the most though, no matter how well you know me is that I am honest. Which is funny because as I've said before, I am a huge liar. I mean, no one is completely honest, or we'd have no friends, no job, no anything. Society runs on a gentle layer of lies and half truths. Still, for all that I am a liar, I am also very honest. This is partially because I am so expressive that I couldn't lie my way out of a paper bag. It's also because I have to much going on to juggle a pile of lies. I have opinions on almost everything, and I love to share them. Honesty has a great shock value. No one really wants to know the truth, even though we all say we do. I love shock value.

Mostly though I am honest for the same reason I am a liar. I have little to no impulse control. A situation arises and in an instant something comes flying out of my mouth. Think of it as a game of Russian Roulette of honesty. Belive me, it has gotten me into tons of trouble.

Still though, I am honest. Unless I am lying.

Look, I'm Martha Stewart. (I hate that woman)

Look what we made this weekend. This is doubly impressive given that the I rarely cook, and I have never made modeling chocolate. Here is the deal. Mix 1 package chocolate cake mix, 15 ounces of canned pumpkin, 2 eggs and 2 tablespoons vegetable oil. For extra flavor you can season the mix pumpkin pie style with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, or use pre-made pumpkin pie mix in a can. Pour the mix into cupcake pans and bake, like 10-ish minutes. Let them cool. Frost with frosting, or whipped cream cheese with cinnamon and nutmeg mixed in. Delish.

For the modeling chocolate melt 7 ounces of white chocolate in a double boiler. (That is a small pan floating in a in a bigger pan filled with a few inches of water). Stir it until it gets melty. Pull it off the fire, then mix in about 2 tablespoons of light Karo Syrup. Super not healthy, but baby girl loved it so much, and its fun to play with. Add any color you might want, we split it into a green and an orange. Make crap. Put it on the cupcake.

It is cute no? I mean it can't get much easier than a pumpkin. Or an apple. But we made pumpkin flavored cupcakes so there you go.

Baby girl made this one.  That is a shawl in case it gets cold at night.  And see the face?  Ugh, so cute.  Do this with your children.  Even if they are like 18.  Or get some neighbor child.  It will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Day 10 - Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.

I could say something really revealing about needing to let go of my desire to achieve my ideal self, or my expectations of society to behave as something other than hedonistic self serving cock shites, but really, I am not feeling so deep right now, so lets not. Although I should. Lets just stay literal.

I wish I didn't know most people I do know. I am in customer service, and as I have stated before, customers are often the worst part of customer service. As for people I have invited into my life, I regret no one. I have learned something from everyone who has ever been influential in my life. Even if they turned out to be big creepy pain in the asses who make me feel all dead inside for a moment.

Other than that, I can honestly say I will either keep you close to my heart, or let you go. I do not have the mental energy to deal with complicated one sided relationships. If you cease to be good to me, I will bitch about you until that loses its appeal and then I will stop talking to you.

If you are not good to me, I just don't really care that much about you. Seems fair.

Day 9 - Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

The ex.
The ex's children.
The first born.

Ugh, the first born. She is old now, and likes her friends and her social life. She is awkward and confident and funny and mopey. She is a teen. She is lovely and special and somewhere inside she is perfect. I have never loved a child like her.

When she was new I carried her in a laundry hamper. I drove her for hours in my car to put her to sleep. I took her to get her shots, I made sure she had food and clothes. She was mine. Then her mom came home one day with her and she had pierced ears. I yelled and complained but she said, what is done is done. Then she moved away and took her with her. Then she brought her back. She was talking. She called me mom. I'm not, not really, but she was still mine. The ex called her mine. Her father said she was mine, not his.

MINE. Just to be clear.

I weaned her from the bottle, potty trained her, taught her to ride a trike. Taught her her colors had her pictures taken in a tiara. I helped her when he brother came. Then her mother moved away again. Then she brought her back. She was still mine. Holding hands and snuggling in my lap, loving me as fiercely as I loved her. Still calling me mom. Asking to live with me, hanging from my every word, just as I was hers. When I got pregnant she told me she wanted me to have a boy, because she wanted to be my only girl.

The girl child was born and she was loved.  The first born adored her and helped me care for her.  She was great with her.  I was careful to not displace her.  I worked to make her secure with her place in my heart.  She was happy in my house.  Still mine.  Then her mom moved away again.

I asked for her for the summer and was told no. That the summer was for family. Well, fuck you. The next summer the first born had begged mom to come to me. So she did. And it was hard, but at the end she was still holding my hand, still loving on me. Still talking, still laughing. Still asking to live with me. Still mine.

Then there was this summer. The summer she became a teen, the summer she wasn't mine. She was super moody, and all in black and her grades are bad and she was sad. She told me there was no reason to go to college because there were no jobs anyway. That here mom was never going to be happy in a marriage because she wasn't happy with herself. The summer she told me I was like her aunt because I was like her mom's sister.

Eww.
Other than skirting around my complicated relationship with her mom, we are always open with each other. This summer she was closed, like her mom. She was quiet and she lied and she tried to twist everything around. Like her mom. This summer I sent her home early because she missed her friends. She wanted other teens. She didn't adore me like I still adore her.

And yes, I do know that ALL teens prefer each other to adults. I know the moodiness is normal. I know the few great laughs we had should be enough. But they are not. Because she is not mine anymore. She is her mom's and that hurts, even if it is right and normal. I try to text her and call her, and sometimes it goes ok, other times it is horrid. Like with any teen.

I do know that eventually she will grow out of being a teen. The drifting I hate is the drifting from my way of life into her mom's. Not that mine is perfect, but mine is hopeful. Mine is empowered. Mine is not hers. And god that fucking sucks.

Day 8 - Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

I have been putting this one off. On some levels it is because I am not the type of person to allow anyone to treat me like shit, let alone make my life hell. I have started some glib post about how most people are not important enough to affect me, and for the most part it is true.

I just couldn't get it right though, and so I left my blog, and read a really open powerful bit from another blogger, and felt like a huge fake. People do hurt me. I just don't like to think about it. I try to avoid pain as a general rule. It's still there though, under the surface. So let's pull it up and take a peek shall we?

My step dads mother - I had never met her, she kicked him out when he was 16. He raised me from eight to almost 16. He thought of me as his own. Then he died.  The company he worked for lost a 3x5 card that had the names of his beneficiaries. He was planning on marrying my mom that fall. We got nothing but his bills.

His mother got it all. His retirement, my collage money, even him. She took his ashes and had a private ceremony. She said she supposed my mother and I could go if we insisted. We didn't. She showed up at out the house asking about the deeds to the vehicles. She took his boat. We hid his tools so she wouldn't take those.  We lied about the dogs name so she wouldn't know he was my step dad's dog.  She said she was amazed my mother allowed him around her child. That he was a good for nothing drunk. He'd been sober for two years when he died. Not as long as I has wished, but still, no longer a drunk. I tried to go after her with a baseball bat. My uncle stopped me.

My aunt and uncle had to move in. He beat his son. I had to protect him. My uncle would bully and threaten me but I would hide my cousin until he calmed down.  My mom had to work double shifts. I started running around with fast boys, doing drugs and drinking. I came home at 1am with hickey's and my aunt taught me how to cover them up. I ended up getting date raped by a 27 year old friend of my uncles. He told me to lock my bedroom door at night because I shouldn't have an unlocked door between my uncle and myself. I was a virgin before that. Then just for fun, I ended up with the 27 year old date rapist for six months. Lets not even discuss the sexual issues I had to overcome because of that relationship.

My mom kept talking about killing herself and how she was a horrible mother. She didn't get dressed or take a bath for 2 years unless I made her. God knows how she kept her job. I had to get a job just to make ends meet. I never even bothered with my SAT's, because there was no money and I was to strung out to imagine scholarships. I had a 4.2 GPA. I ended up at a community college with a bunch of mouth breathers. I mean, just look at these skills. It's clear I didn't live up to my potential.

She could have signed it over to us. The boat, the money, the life he had worked for, the future he had planned for me. But she didn't. Instead we had bills and sadness and a worn out recliner that he used to sit in. I know we would have still had some of those things, even with the money, but not the abusive uncle, or the 27 year old rapist or the long shifts after school and the absentee mother.  Still, my life is not ruined. It's different from what I wanted, but I am loved and I am confident and I am strong. Looking back I have no idea how (please ignore the self derisive humor, it's just a little defense mechanism).

I know, but I love this song anyways.

"I won't be denied by you, the animal inside of you.". . .  Um, ok, yummy hot punk rock boy.

Day 7 - Someone who has made your life worth living for.

In every choice, every chance, every sacrifice and every leap, there is an underlying premise that all I do is to provide the best possible conditions for you to have a happy, fulfilled and wonderful life.

Thank you for taking me out of myself.

Day 6 - Something you hope you never have to do.

I hope I will never have to bury my child.

That is a loss that can never be filled, or eased and I could not face it. It is unnatural and fundamentally wrong.

I face a possibility of losing my eyesight to glaucoma, my breasts to cancer, my financial independence to the closing or selling of my shop. I will most likely have to have to bury my mother and father. I may outlive my husband. I will die one day. I will face horrible unforeseeable upheavals in my life. All that will be bearable, as long as her sweet little life is continues long after mine has passed

Now, If you will all excuse me, I am going to go crawl in bed with her until my heart stops pounding so fast..

Day 5 - Something you hope to do in your life.

In no particular order.

Be brave enough to go hot air balloning.
Travel to places that need translation books.
See Ireland.
Retire comfortably.
Live past 80.
See my daughter as a happy well adjustaded adult.
Spoil at least one grandchild.
Go scuba diving.
Play the violin well.
Enjoy gardening.  Grow my own fruits and vegetables.
Make it through an arguement with someone without wanting to smooth everything over.
Love my body.
Not react from fear and anger.
Learn to dance.
Look back on my life and say that I lived it well.

Happy Coming Out Day!

Or not.

Fine.  Stay in your closet for all I care.  I'll send snacks.  And a chamber pot.  Cause I think about these things.

http://www.hrc.org/issues/coming_out.asp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Coming_Out_Day

p.s.  Coming out does not mean shoving your sex life in peoples faces.  That is tacky no matter your orientation.

p.p.s  Unless you have a blog, cause then that is just voyeurism.  And that is consensual.   

Day 4 - Something you have to forgive someone for.

Shall we discuss my father issues?  No, we did that here.

My mom? Generally, no. She wasn't always the best, but I'm a mom now so I get it. The stress and everything can just sometimes be rough, and I do know two things that make the issues I sometimes have tolerable. 1 - She loves me with all her heart. 2- She did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her.

How can you hold a hard grudge against someone like that?

Ok, here is how. She has body issues. She was a child's size 14 when I was growing up. We shared jeans until I was 12. Then I grew out of them. I mean, come on. A childs 14? Bullshit. Hmm. . I digress. The point is, she was very clearly, NOT fat. She was skinny. Unhealthily so. And yet, I constantly heard her saying she was fat, worrying about the food she ate, dieting, lamenting that she couldn't get in her high school clothes. . . because yes, she apparently was skinnier at some point.

So if she was fat, and I was bigger that her, what did that make me? Flubber. . I think.

Looking back I know I wasn't. I wore a size 2 when I graduated 8th grade. I weighed 122 lbs when I started dating my husband at age 16. I was a size 6 when I graduated high school. That fact that I know all that makes me very sad.

When I was 8 she made me eat a whole box of candy because I had snuck some. She had never offered to share, and I am sorry, that is bad parenting. She told me that she was angry because she could never have treats without me eating them all, and since I wanted them so badly, I could have them all. Translation - you are a little piggy, eat it up.

When I was a freshman in high school, and the hips and breasts were turning me from a muscular rail into a curvy young woman, I felt fat. Of course. I went crying to my mom, and instead of telling me that I was lovely and that the growth was normal and healthy and perfect, she offered to buy me some Lean Cuisine. Not only did that confirm that I was fat, but it told me that the problem was just with me, and not with my family as a whole. Even typing this now, almost 20 years later makes me want to shrink into my own skin.

Last year she came to visit and I had some jeans I didn't like. I asked her if she wanted them. "Oh, honey they won't fit me." I told her there was no harm in trying them. Retirement has not been kind to her figure. They fit. "These are to small for you, right?" "Actually they fit fine, I just don't like the rise." And wait for it people, she actually said, out loud even, "Oh my God I have gotten so fat." In a huff, I told her it was nice that I could be the line she drew between what was fat and what was not. She assured me that it was our frames. "Your bone structure is so much bigger than mine"

Yeah, but your a bitch.

Here is the thing though. Even though I cannot stop that ugly feeling, that dark rotten twist in my core that makes me hate food, makes it hard to eat when I feel bad about myself, makes me hate my body . . no wait, there is no 'thing'. I don't care about your issues mom, you fucked up and you should feel like shit over it.

Karma made you gain 40 pounds. So there.

But here is why I have to forgive her. 1 - I love her with all my heart. 2 - I know she did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her. Most importantly though it is because of reason number 3. - I am a mom now. To a little girl. One who hears me talk about life in terms of healthy choices, and being strong and capable. One who will not hear me obsess about weight loss. Or weight gain. Or the size of my pants. I don't even have my old high school clothes.

I let her jiggle my arm, play with my soft belly, tell me I have squishy cheeks. She says I have strong legs, and that I can ride a bike for a long time. I am teaching her that bodies come in all sizes and shapes and that they are all beautiful tools. If someone had done that for my mother, think of how much better of I would be.

Day 3 - Something you have to forgive yourself for.

This one was hard, not because I'm wracked with guilt over so many things, I mean I tend to be a guilty nervous person, but the feelings fade so fast I am usually left feeling guilty about few things. The few things I do feel guilty about are things I don't really fell like discussing right now. Then there is this.
I feel like I set you up for failure. We started out not knowing how different we were and then when it became apparent that we were, and that I had the advantage, it hurt me deeply. I wanted to be like you. I used to study your movements and try to be like you. I never could. You were sweeter, and more giving than me. You still are. You spoke softly, smiled lightly and moved like a little fairy. You still do. But your eyes were sad. They still are. I wanted to elevate you, the thought of you continuing life in that way hurt me deeply.

I loved you, tried to make you feel better, tried to tell you how to grow, tried to show you how. I lived my life like I was your personal role model. I was 13. I did well in school, you dropped out. You were trashed at parties way before I stopped saying no. I slept with few people. You slept with random people you met at laundromats. I went to college, you almost fainted when I dragged you to the admissions office.

I got a job, a degree, a house, a family. You got a family. Kids, and a fucked up series of fucked up relationships. I found you jobs, managed your bills, took care of the kids. Defended you, tried to shelter you, worshiped you.

And then you left.

And what I realized is that, all the things I was trying to do for you, probably just served as a reminder that you were not achieving what I was. Which probably made you feel like a failure. I started remembering times I had lectured you about your choices, the times I should have just held you and told you it was ok. It is ok that you do not have my life, who is to say that mine is really any better than yours. Expecting you to succeed in the ways I have is so arrogant and pointless. For all your issues, you had never judged me. Hell, you never even told me I was being a bitch. Which I was.

I do know that all I wanted was a happy heathy life for you.  But I wanted it with me, near me.  So I could be near you.  And when it didn't work out that way I got angry.  With all I had, I never really expressed that kind of unconditional love. Which is so sad, because it always was.

So what I have to forgive myself for is being to young to know how to be right for you until now.  Sorry.

any one wanna let me borrow their new born?

i took a test yesterday.  the pregnancy kind.  i take them all the time.  i should buy a company, it would be cheaper.  since baby girl was born i have always hoped for a negative, been relieved when it was.  danced and jumped quietly to myself when it was.  left the bathroom and hugged the husband, listened as his desire for a second child increased as our need to constantly care for baby girl decreased.  felt guilty for being happy, but have always been happy.

except the last test i took a few months ago.  i was a little sad.  i had started daydreaming about babies.  i romanticized our first two years with baby girl in a way only time away from an event can allow.  i glossed over the sleepless nights, the sore body, the angst, the drama.  i remembered tiny fingers around mine, soft skin and sweet smiles.

then last night i knew i wasn't. and i'm not. again.  but this time there was no dancing.  i slunk into the bathtub and felt sad.  the husband came in a sat with me.  he is patiently waiting for me to change my mind.  to say yes to another child.  but i don't.  i don't know if i will.

i have a small two bedroom house, which i don't want to leave.
i work so much.
our quality of life would change.
baby sitters would be harder to find.
the age difference would be so great between them.
life is so easy now.
i don't want to go through those kind of changes again.
i didn't want sex for almost 2 years after wards but i did it anyway which meant 2 years of awkward sex.
i am not that patient.
another dinner to make, bath to get, cold to nurse, teeth to brush, questions to answer, voice to listen to.

it took so long and so many people to get baby girl, i don't know if how much my reasons for saying no have to do with not wanting to go through all that again.  the blood work, the indignity, the disappointment.  the being made to feel like less of a woman.

but i do love children.

Day 2 Something you love about yourself.

Ok, lets start with a mini list again.








Hmm. . .



















*crickets*











Um.







Ok.

This is hard. Unless I am in "look at me, look at me" mode, it's hard for me to say all the things I love about me. I dug around a bit today though and I did come up with these things.

I love my hair.
I love my voice.
I love my freckles.
I love that I always try to do the right thing.
I love that I am capable.
I love that I am very self aware.
I love that I assume negative interactions with other people have little or nothing to do with me at all.

Let's talk about that one. It makes my life so much happier, and it causes fun friction between my husband and I. You see, if he has a bad interaction with a man, he thinks, "that guy pissed me off." I think, "That guy was cranky." If a car pulls in front of me, I think, "Wow, you are a shitty driver." He thinks, "THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH just cut me off." If a store clerk passes me over for another customer, I think "Hmm, she must not have seen me." He thinks "That bitch ignored me."

You get the point.

And I think that his reaction is normal. We are generally egotistic creatures. I don't really know why I react, or non-react the way I do. I usually don't even notice the supposed slight unless it's really aggressive, or if someone points it out. Then I recognize that the other person did something generally considered inappropriate. I just don't see a connection between the behavior and myself. And i generally assume it is an isolated behavior, not way of life for the other person.

So I don't get angry, don't really care. My step dad used to tell me, "Don't let people rent space in your head. There are too many important things in there to give that kind of power to someone who has already forgotten about you." I guess I took it to heart.

The good thing is that this type of attitude allows me to interact with idiots in relative peace, the bad thing is that I often end up surprised when someone I have considered a friend turns out to have serious character flaws that prevent me from continuing a friendship. And sometimes that sucks.

Generally though I love it. Feeling that other peoples issues are just that, all them, with NOTHING to do with me, is very good for my self esteem. Think of all the 'slights' I don't feel. All the lovely anger I miss out on.

Day 1 - Something you hate about yourself.

Well everyone else is doing it, why shouldn't I?  And by everyone I mean like three people whose blogs I read and love.  I know, my idea of everyone has a limited scope.  So for those of you who are not part of the everyone, the idea is that you publicly post 30 potentially embarrassing self revelations.  Why would I do that?  Emotional growth and humility.  And lets face it, I could use some of both.

So, Question 1.  Something you hate about yourself.

Hmm. . . . this should be easy.

I hate that I often expect the worst.
I hate that I can't take a compliment.
I hate that I am not happy with my body.
I hate that I usually don't feel connected to other human beings.
I hate that I do not present my true self to the general public. 
I hate that I lose my temper with my daughter.
I hate that I thrive in chaos.

Well, that was a productive 30 seconds.  Glad I'm so fond of me.

Lets focus on. . . the true self stuff.  I've mentioned most of those other things on here often enough.  And if not, I'm sure I will get around to it.  I love to dig in on myself.  

People think I am friendly and outgoing kind, and charming.  Really, they do.  If you have met me in person, you can probably vouch for that.  Unless I really don't care if you like me, you will.  And if I really want you to like me, you will adore me.  Not because I am truly a wonderful individual, but because I change my personality to suit you best.  If you need a friend who is brash and wild, I will be that friend.  Need a challenging intellectual discussion, I'm your woman.  How could you not adore someone who acts exactly the way you think they should, without seeming like a boring rehashed version of yourself?

But then I get bored because I am not growing at all, and reflecting you loses its challenge, and I lose interest in you and move on.  I have in all my adult years met maybe four people that I have actually been myself with at all times.  And it is scary and hard to maintain.  Hard not to give the answer they expect, hard to tell my true feelings.  Hard not to tell the same 10 stories that I tell everyone else.

I tell those stories because they are easy to relate, and makes it seem like I am revealing a personal part of me.  I'm not.  Although they may seem insightful or revealing or embarrassing to you, I assure you, they are nothing compared to the boatload of crazy I am keeping tucked inside.

Like what you ask?
Sometimes I am afraid to take a bath at night because I think and invisible suicide victim is going to stab me, ala 13 Ghosts.

I am painfully insecure and have a hard time believing I deserve the good things I have.

When I am sad, I need spicy food, and I twirl my hair and want to smell cinnamon.

And that is all, because some of you who read this know who I am, and I am not going to stop this bad habit over night.

Men should have to have ball bras.

I hate buying bras. I usually get the same one from Victoria's Secrets. It's too small, and kinda gives me three and a half boobs, but it doesn't itch. And it doesn't make me look like I've given up on sex. But I am down to just one red one, and a black one, plus a strapless. Which is something no large breasted woman should wear regularly.


So off to Vicky's I head. "Sorry, ma'm, we don't carry THAT size in the store anymore. Try online." I trudge home. I try online. Backordered until November. I can't wait two months for a bra, especially one that doesn't really fit. So back to the stores i Head.

After hitting up every department store and plus size shop in the area, I stumble across a specialty boutique. She wraps me in tape and strips my top off, which was a lot of action for a Tuesday afternoon. Besides the cheap feel, she discovers I'm almost two full cup sizes bigger than the sad little size Vicky's no longer carries. What the fuck is a G? Oh, and although she carries THAT size, I have to order it. And wait.

Three. To. Six. Freaking. Weeks.

Well fine, it's not like they are going to get any smaller. Or bigger, god forbid. So I order the bra. Then I order three online. I pay extra to have them rushed to me. When the come, i get poked by wires, smashed down and pulled into my armpits. Defeat. Then the next weekend, after another week of three and a half breasts, I go out on the town again. SOMEONE has to have a bra for me right?

No.

But a skinny flat chested bitch asks me if I've ever considered reduction. She doesn't know it but she is REALLY lucky baby girl was with me. I politely inform her that my breasts are the only thing keeping my ass from looking silly, and move on. Another lady tells me that I should get a minimizer to help "tone them down". Um, fuck you too.

I go home and cry. Really. Cry. I feel fat and ugly and like a great big boobed freak of nature.

Then I took the next morning off work to go to an upscale place that keeps the same hours as I do. And she was lovely and had bras in my size. The first few had huge straps and thick backs and huge cleavage smashing and or hiding abilities. I ask, rather rudely I'm sure, if there isn't a bra out there that is made for a woman who still enjoys sex, and cleavage?

And then there was light.

Wacoal Wildly Flirtatious Full Figure Contour Bra 853144

Every bit as comfy and silky smooth as the Vicky's bras, but in a size that actually fits my breasts. Well the left one anyway. Silly right one. Ugh. But even that one is 99% in. And there are only two breasts. The way nature intended. Hooray. Comes in boring beige and black. Made up to a 38G. Oh and there is even a fair amount of cleavage. It will be my everyday bra.

Simone Perele Andora 3D Molded Bra 131343

When she handed this bra to me, I thought, yeah right. It’s ridiculously light, and tiny looking, and all the silly lace is WAY to girly for me, and my girls. And in truth, it is a tiny bit itchy, but not enough to deter me from the fantastic bit of sexy that this bra makes me feel like. The cup is an air filled soft foam cup. It hugs and supports, it feel like I am wearing nothing. I have cleavage. I have jiggle and sway. I feel like sex on a stick. I will be getting it in black and chocolate. I will wear this every time I have wine. Wearing this makes me feel like I had wine... Made in great colors, up to a 38 F, and a 40 E.  As an FYI, I needed to go down a band and cup size due to its stretchy nature.

So there you go big breasted friends of cleavage and sexiness. Buy them. You will love them. (and if not, don’t blame me) Oh, and if you know of other great bras in a G cup, I’d LOVE to hear about it. 

Oh and if you are smaller breasted, don’t be a bitch. My breasts are this size due to superior genetics, just like your cute ass is, or great skin, or whatever. And aren’t we all to busy hating on ourselves to spare time to hate on one another?

p.s.  If I ever get that first bra I ordered, I'll tell you all about it too.