may 25th...if you've got em, flaunt em!

If you've got em...flaunt em!
Current mood:busty!

..............

This entry into the random-e files is dedicated to a subject matter that I’ve wanted to cover for a while now…my fascination with BOOBIES.

Tits, jugs, knockers, boobs, bazookas, melons…the quantity of euphemisms is endless it seems! Some people even name “the twins” but I’ve never been able to come up with anything clever enough. And yes, this is still a woman writing this blog and no, I haven’t decided to switch teams. I’m still a cock junkie at heart but boobies are kick ass. However, it wasn’t until recently that my fascination and appreciation for these marvelous mounds of mammary goodness developed.

I have a long relationship with my breast that hasn’t always been pleasant. At the age of 9 and while completing my 3^rd grade year in elementary school, I developed quickly. I went from a boyish figure to curvy hips, a defined waist and some serious boobs. I started the 4^th grade in a B cup, the 7^th grade in a C cup and the 10^th grade in a DDD cup. By the time I graduated from high school at the age of 17, I was not even 100lbs. and wore a G cup! No, that was not a typo. A fucking G cup.

I always looked at them as beasts. These terrible, horrible beasts that prevented me from running, from wearing bikini’s, from buying cute shirts that had buttons up the front because if they fit my bust, they were enormous everywhere else. By middle school, specifically my 9^th grade year, I was ridiculed. Called names like dolly parton, ten ton tits, big busted bitch and tits mcgee just to name a few. I even went so far as to bind them with an ace bandage in the girls’ bathroom before my first class of the day. I hated them and their limitations, their endless scrutiny and the hurt that came along with being a "woman" when everyone else was still a "girl".

The twins and I did had some fun in college but I still had a great deal of shame and disgust over my incredibly out of proportion accoutrement’s. By the time I hit 22, I was fucking DONE with these things. I wanted them gone. I was a whopping 110lbs. and forcing myself into a GG cup….and my cups overflowethed! Granted, men liked the old fun bags but they didn’t have to sleep in a bra every night, nurse a sore back and neck, wear pads under their bra straps so they wouldn’t dig into their shoulders and break the skin. Nope. They just got to play.

With the help of fantastic insurance, an incredibly plastic surgeon, support from my friends and family and accrued vacation time at work, I took the plunge. After nearly 4 hours of surgery, a little over 3lbs. of my chest was gone. I was a new person. I was a fucking Barbie doll with my perfect, perky little 34C’s that were glorious, round and firm. Unfortunately it didn't last for long. The very next year I met fucktard and began eating my way into a bad marriage. When you gain over 100lbs. in a little over 6 years, well, shit doesn't look the same anymore. Back to the G cup! With all that said, I began hating the old girls again. This time even more so because, like the rest of my sexual being, they went unnoticed, untouched and unappreciated.  

But all of that has changed. Yes, they are still enormous mounds of flesh that get in the way of most everything and I am still overflowing most bras but good golly miss molly, these things are magical. They are big, round, still pretty darn firm, if I do say so myself,  and I am finally learning to wear them proudly. I have found a man who appreciates them, treats them with great care and affection and he finds them and all of me beautiful. I have noticed that I play with them more (yes, boys, women play with boobies too). In fact I never really thought much of them in the way of sexual pleasure but I have a new found appreciation for the level of sensuality and arousal that can be achieved. Granted, I think this has something to do with a certain man’s ability and skill level but I don’t kiss and tell. No wait, yes I do…the man knows how to appreciate the female form.

I want to display them in sexy bras and deep v-neck shirts. There are even days when they just look so outstanding that I think it’s a shame to keep them hidden! Hell, I even notice other women’s cleavage and make comments about how good they look. Sounds weird but seriously, I’m always excited to see someone putting them out there. Letting them be appreciated for what they are…and exquisitely sensual part of being a woman.

It’s a big step for me. To go from hating such an integral part of my femininity to being proud of it is something I didn’t think could ever happen. So I say, if you’ve got them, flaunt them. Wear them proudly ladies. I know I will!

may 21...can i get a copy?

can i get a copy?
Current mood:  naughty 

 

1. i believe this is evidence that k, the queen of all web-based insanity, is indeed rubbing off on me. i don't know if that's good or bad but this was just too good not to share.

2. i believe every woman should have one of these, maybe even two just in case one breaks. it does actually come in a 2 pack with "gift packaging" (no pun intended). then again, it all depends on whether said subject is "cast worthy". if not, i suggest you go out and find yourself a new subject.

3. i believe i know what switch will get me for my birthday. hint, hint....I WANT ONE!!! as a side note, they also have one for women too.

• 

  Light Tone

  The Clone-A-Willy’s medically tested molding gel process captures incredible, life-like detail, making this the most personalized vibrating sex toy you will ever own. Each kit contains everything you need to create an exact replica of any penis in the comfort of your own home. Many satisfied customers have made this our best selling product for over 10 years. Use the Clone-A-Willy to put the spark back in your long-distance relationship, or replicate your lover’s penis to double your pleasure and fun. The Clone-A-Willy kit makes a great romantic gift for birthdays, holidays, showers, anniversaries, and much more!

    
  
• 

may 20th...finding my peace

finding my peace
Current mood:  calm 

This is the letter/email that I sent this morning to fucktard. I now feel like I have done everything that I possibly can to help my children. I still believe that he is a man of so little principle and of such egotistical nature that he will not and cannot see the writing on the wall. But by God, I am the ONLY ONE who has to live with myself and I refuse to live with myself holding all this hatred and contempt.
I am now centered and truly at peace.


..............................

M,

I don't know if I've ever felt this many things all at once. I'm frustrated, I'm tired, I'm angry and I'm disappointed. I decided tonight, after tossing and turning, that it was time to finally send you one last plea. One last attempt at trying to convince you of the obvious. I have let it eat me up inside for too long now. I'm filled with anger and hate and I cannot and will not let it invade my life anymore. I am again awake in the middle of the night. Well, it's now officially morning as it is 5am but I have been up since 4 if not before.

Tonight I tucked your children into their beds. Well, one of them into their respective beds. The other is in my bed while I attempt to sleep on a twin bunk bed mattress with an open wound on my leg. But I digress. This is NOT about me. After I got them both to sleep, which generally takes quite some time, I sat down and I cried. I sobbed like I haven't in a very long time. But I didn't cry because of my own suffering. I didn't cry because of our failed marriage or because of stress or illness or because of being overwhelmed. No. There have been plenty of those times over the last year that has been the case but not tonight.

I began thinking of all the ways that I wanted this divorce to go. I bought divorce books on ways to have a Collaborative divorce, read articles, looked at examples around me that work. All of the things that I had hoped we could accomplish. I thought of all the ways that this hurt, this deep chasm could have been bridged if we could somehow put aside our differences and do it for the right reasons. If we could somehow put aside all of the anger, insecurity, money, pride, and focus on our children. But that wasn't what had me crying. I cried because that hasn't happened and I fear it never will.

Time and time again, despite what you may believe, I have extended the proverbial olive branch to you. Why? Certainly not because I wanted to, M. All I have wanted to do is get as far away from you as possible. That may hurt to hear and I don't mean it as such but we are better off apart and I think deep down you know that's the case. Now granted, you may not see it that way but I know I have tried. I have called you, invited you to go with us to lunches, movies, come over, extended time that you can see the kids. You may think I've done this to somehow look like a "bigger" person in a Judge's mind or because I expected the same in return. In a way I did expect some of the same from you but that wasn't the motive. It has always been for the kids, not for you and not for me.

I want what is best for our children. What is best is that they see us getting along. I have tried to reach out to you about my concerns over their well being, their emotional distress and changes, for several months now to no avail. Time and time again I try and I get no response. This is not about me, M. It is not about you. It is about our children. A has been opening up just in the past week since seeing her therapist, T, and I am so thankful that she has someone to lean upon. She talks openly with my mom but she doesn't have the experience and knowledge of T. While she's been opening up, she has had lots of questions, emotional breakdowns and just wants some answers.

The bottom line is this, M, and it's a harsh truth. I didn't think I could ever harbor such ill feelings for you but I do. I hate the way you have disrespected me, made me feel as if I am not worthy of love or basic human comfort and kindness. Your actions, your every step of this process has been made more and more difficult because of your unwillingness to change, to compromise, to give. You have erased me and I have let you. But this isn't about ME or YOU! It is impossible for me to overlook the way you treat me and I'm sure you can say that same about me. But my God, can't you see what this is doing to our children? I am begging you, flat out begging and pleading for you to communicate with me, to consider one more time doing what is right.

The house. Good lord, the house. Honestly, I hate the memories I have of so many things in that house. I hate the fact that it's falling apart and that it represents our marriage. I hate the idea of going back to the house where our friends now hate me. In the same respect, I love that house. I helped make it a home. Both of our children were brought home from the hospital to that house. I miss it but I was willing to let it go because I saw the effect it would have if I stayed there with you. I knew it would become an angry ugly place for our kids but I never wanted to leave. I never would have been the one to leave if I had known what an impact it would have made for the kids. But our children, your own flesh and blood, want nothing more than to have me living there with them again. A is too frightened to tell you. She's afraid to hurt your feelings and there is no other way to tell you except to say that she is desperate to have me move back in there with them. It's the truth, M. I feel that I have to speak for her because she is a child. She needs me. She needs us and I feel like my pleas go on deaf ears.

Now I know this will be met with opposition. I know that you probably think I have planted these ideas in her head but I am being sincere and honest with you. I understand your "logical" frame of mind will immediately say no but please consider what I have to say. Consider what my therapist S told you from the first time we went into her office. She told both of us that the best thing for the children is for the parent who spends the majority of the time with the kids to stay in the home. Whether you like it or not, that is me. And I know that you will say the only reason you aren't there is because you are working and I understand that. No one is saying that you don't spend time with your kids. It is simply the nature of my relationship with them. And the time will come that I will have my education completed and be able to go back to work full time but you can't deny the fact that I have stayed home with our children since the day they were born. Their lives have been based in that house, with the majority of their days spent with one person. Like it or not, that person is me. To expect that they are to move into an apartment, share a bedroom, have their world turned upside down and inside out, to leave everything that they know on a daily basis is just not right. It's just not right, M and I think deep down that you know it.

This isn't about me winning a "battle" or you proving a "point". It isn't about me missing the home I helped build. It's not about you being lonely. It's not about any of that. It's about their lives, not ours. Their comforts, not ours. If it were about us, it would be easy. I'm simply asking that you consider what I have said. Whatever you say, whether you give me a list of reasons why it isn't best, if you give me an excuse, if you voluntarily decide it's best or if you simply don't respond, I won't be angry. It doesn't matter to me.

I have said my peace and I am now at peace. One way or another, I am going to continue to try and work things out with you no matter what. I hope that you are open to trying to do the same with me. Not for us but so we can collectively make some good decisions, the right decisions for our children together.

E

may 18th...klutz

klutz
Current mood:  dorky 

 

it's true. i'm a total and complete klutz. when i was a little girl, i had more bumps and bruises and scrapes than any other girl in class. i remember going into third grade and wondering why all the other little girls didn't have bruised up shins and scrapes on their knees. i thought it most peculiar that these girls didn't go outside to play. i mean, why else would their legs be so shiny and blemish free?

as a matter of fact, it is still one of the main reasons that i don't wear skirts often. that and the fact that my upper thighs are so fat right now that they create a great deal of friction and that just doesn't feel good. nothing worse than a sweaty nether region in the hot summer months.

i've had broken bones, bruises, scratches, scrapes, burns. i've gone under the knife to repair, remove and fix a good majority of my body. had my first surgery at the age of 15 when i had my arthroscopic knee surgery. i had torn out all of the cartilage in both knees and part of the meniscus and knee cap in my right knee were especially bad. back story...i danced with the florida ballet in jacksonville as an apprentice at the ripe old age of 12 1/2. my body was already washed up by 15...a whole separate blog.

my latest endeavor into klutz-ism happened last monday morning. i was standing on a child size solid wood chair, continuing my mural painting for the preschool when i missed my footing and came crashing down onto the chair. my shin was scraped but nothing too serious in that department. however, i came down on the chair with my weight and now have a bone "bruise" on the front of my shin and one on the back of my calf. so i picked myself up, came home, got the small cut cleaned up, neosporined the hell out of it and bandaged for the day. next day the bandage came off (i fucking hate bandaids) and i went on my merry way.

the week come and goes. sunday switch and i decided to take a trip to savannah to catch up with his old buddies....who are fucking awesome! think i love him even more now that i've met his eclectic entourage. anyhoooo, while on the drive i notice that my bruise is more painful, that it is now turning a bright red and becoming hot to the touch. could it be that it is simply part of the healing? wishful thinking. by the time we returned that night, i was in tears. the pain was excruciating, jetting up my leg past the knee and down into my foot. it was red, swollen and i actually became rather worried.

woke up yesterday and went immediately to the doctor who gave me the prognosis. the cut which was such a small part of this injury is now infected. and when i say infected, i mean fucking infected! i was ordered to take not just 1 strong antibiotic but 2 antibiotics every day for the next 10 days, 1 of which i have to take 4 times daily!!! i did the calculations this morning while taking day two of these lovely little pills and i am taking six pills per day with a total milligram quantity of 2,320 mg. daily. fuck!

so it's no wonder that my stomach feels like it's on fire and that i might hurl at any moment. think those might have something to do with it. i was running a fever too which always makes you feel extra super-dee-duper shitty but that seems to be getting better. next time i consider doing something klutzy, please try to stop me...if you can.

off to find the hack-saw. this thing is fucking killing me!!!!



exhibit a - klutzy's throbbing leg 'o pain.

may 13th...a good laugh

a good laugh
Current mood:  amused 

i generally talk about "fighting the dragon" when referring to the soon to be ex aka fucktard. so after i wrote my blog yesterday, you know, the one about self pity, i did some domestic chores and hung with the kidlets for a while. after they went to bed i got online and checked out a favorite bookmark....explodingdog.com and explodingdog.tumblr. genius and there are some serious gems from this guy.

low and behold, a dragon titled new drawing that actually made me laugh last night. the best part is that it's title is "it's tuesday again". my mom and i joke that fucktard likes to make life difficult on tuesdays. it always seems to be a tuesday when he decides to really show his ass or create new and exciting drama. makes it even funnier i think!

just had to share!!!!



http://explodingdog.tumblr.com/post/589978910/its-tuesday-again

may 12th...self pity is ugly

self pity is ugly
Current mood:  distraught 

 

(gonna post this blog because it's just how i feel right this second. however, don't get any ideas like i've gone off the deep end. i have not. i just feel like it today but i'll keep hanging on, just like i always do and hope that this blog will serve as an outlet for this horribly ugly self pity party. there. done. on with the show.)

it's official.

i am falling apart.

quickly.

feel like my head might just explode. i know my heart wants to right now.

this THIS this is just too much for one person.

i can no longer hold it together, be the glue that helps bind my little people to the security that is their mother. truth be told, their mother is struggling just to take a breath!

i have no idea who i am, where i've been, where i appear to be headed. feels like someone blindfolded me, spun me around and then sent me out into a landmine field all the while laughing as i dodge the explosions all around me. 

i need to remind myself why i did this in the first place. even this hell is better than being in his.

has it really come to this? did it really have to get so bad, so uncommunicative and ugly? did he have to say such hateful, mean, untrue things to me over and over and over again? somehow i still have a hard time not believing that i am a worthless woman, a worthless mother, a worthless lover. my sensibilities are clouded and i'm easily influence, easily beaten down and i just don't know if i can get up anymore.

and the shrapnel is so painful. it is lodged into my muscle and bone. what's worse is that i am not the only one with wounds. my beautiful, kind, loving children have a few pieces here and there. i've been able to pull them out and leave little scarring but fear that one day they will step on a landmine and i won't be able to help them.

reminded again that this too shall pass.

somebody, anybody, help me. help me explain to my beautiful children why i had to leave. why i had to take them away from everything they know. please, somebody, help me tell them that their father is a good person who loves them and wants nothing but the best for them. it's a lie but somebody needs to teach me how to lie to them because i just can't bring myself to do it.

i hate him. i hate him for doing this to me and to his flesh and blood. i hate myself for letting him do it to me for so long. my biggest fear is that he is doing it again, only this time his victim is my nine year old.

i feel helpless against this fucking dragon. his heads are multiplying and yet i remain standing with my one sword and shield. sure hope this thing is fireproof!!!!

may 7th....dear fat girl

Dear Fat Girl.....
Current mood:chunky monkey

Dear Fat Girl,

Hey you....yeah you. I'm pissed off. Yes, you. You know what you've done and I'm pissed off at you. Really pissed.

Oh, you want a reason? I'll give you a reason. In fact I'll give you 213 of them.

You, you selfish little bitch, have taken it upon yourself to abuse and neglect me. You have destroyed my beautiful form, my tender breasts, my lean muscle and my once slender frame. You have single-handedly taken me from a rather healthy size and shape to an obese, abused middle aged woman. So yeah, I'm pissed!

I hate you for it. I hate you. I hate the way you have let yourself go. I hate the fact that you have never been happy with me. You have never shown me the love and attention I deserve. You see, all those years when you thought I was horrible, when you thought I was your enemy, I was instead beautiful. I was able to give you so many things. I gave you energy, I gave you freedom, I gave you sexuality and self confidence. But no. No, it still wasn't enough for you. You had to make me thinner, you had to make me lighter, you had to make me even more beautiful. I was perfect just as I was but you couldn't see it could you? If I didn't know you better, I might question your intellect all together.

You made bad choices when I was beautiful. You denied me nourishment, you beat me, you forced me to purge things that I was enjoying. You overworked my muscles and bones because you couldn't stop at just one bite. You overfilled me and made me feel sluggish and weak. Then you decided to abuse me even more. When you became entangled in a bad relationship, you threw food at me...if you can even call it food. Most of it was processed and laced with sugar and preservatives. I don't even know how much damage you have done in feeding me this shit. Pure shit!

But it wasn't enough to feed me a little bit of junk, oh no. You had to give me crap and you had to do it in copious amounts. You made me gain over 100lbs. in less than 3 years time. Do you know how fucked up that is? Do you? I'm here to tell you, it was brutal on me. I lost the glow from my skin, my hair lost its luster, my feet gained another size and my waist disappeared under layers and layers of pure fat. lumpy, bumpy, engorged breasts. not just a rounded belly but one that is literally heavy to the touch. don't even get me started with your enormous ass and thighs. They barely work anymore. Remember when you could run 5 miles a day? Do you even recall that time?

I gave you that. I gave you those 5 mile runs, I gave you lean muscle, I gave you all the things you ever wanted and you pissed them away. Why? Because you couldn't deal with your own life. You couldn't be trusted with this beautiful form. With this perfectly designed body. God forbid you take care of yourself. And now you ask so much from me. You ask me to help you. You ask me to take you up and down the stairs without pain. You ask me for flexibility. You ask me for comfort and support and all you do is, well, nothing. You do nothing for me in return.

I tell you what. I'll make you a deal. You start treating me with respect, love, tenderness, joy and appreciation. You start feeding me what I really want, what deep down will nourish me and make me stronger. Hopefully it won't be too late to reverse some of this damage. You have got to start moving me around more too. Sweat will not kill you, lazy fuck. Hate to tell you but that flat stomach may never come back. But I'll give it my best shot if you'll start doing what's right for me.

In return I will help to give you back your respect, your love of self, your joy, your appreciation and your tenderness. The truth is that if you begin to treat me well, I will treat you well. I'll make you feel better than you ever have. Even at your thinnest, you weren't happy with me. Now I think you are older and wiser and more aware that it isn't all based on the size written on the tag. At least I hope you aren't as stupid as you were in your 20's. You're lucky I didn't bitch slap you back then.

But please, whatever you choose, do me a favor. Quit your fucking bitching about being fat! When you are ready, I'll be waiting, ready to take you forward instead of backward. I will make sure that you are supported and loved the way you deserve. Until then, put down the fucking pound cake and get your ass out of bed. I'm sick and tired of you being sick and tired.

Up yours you selfish bitch,

Your Body

P.S. In case you forgot how I use to look, here's a little glimpse of what you decided to cover up with fat. You fool. You stupid fucking fool. Hope you decide to do the right thing. You still have that dress hanging in your closet too, you know? Sure would be nice to see it fit over more than just your thigh someday!!!!

may 2nd...andy and dolly become domesticated

Andy and Dolly Become Domesticated
Current mood:  loved

..............

It’s been a whirlwind romance for me. Nearly 10 months now. How time flies when you are changing your life! Switch is an unexpected love and one that turned my world upside down. I wasn’t looking for him initially but I feel like perhaps I’ve been waiting all my life for him. Sounds so cliché and idealistic. We all know the romantic side of loving someone has a short life span and then daily life and an everyday love consumes you. It’s inevitable that you become “human” to one another and lose a bit of spark along the way. It’s cyclical and some may say pessimistic, but I don’t look at it that way.

When I went on my little Vegas Vacation with Switch, I was pleasantly surprised by many things. One, the fact that I could sit next to this man on a plane for 4 hours and not be annoyed with him in any way. This is huge for me since most folks annoy the snot out of me after a short period of time. He has no nervous habits or fidgety ticks, he has excellent table manners, he makes me laugh until I think I’ll pee myself and is just plain old likable. Another thing that struck me on our trip was the fact that I could talk to him for hours about, well, life or we could say nothing at all to each other and feel just as connected. Honestly, I had no problem doing the normal, everyday things with him. I feel like I finally have a worthy equal.

Since we returned home, it has been somewhat of a “domestic” romance. We make the occasional trip to the grocery store, Target, a stop here, a stop there, all the things that other couples do. Granted, we are still anything but an everyday normal couple who are set in our ways. All you have to do is get me talking about him or just thinking of him and there’s a twinkle in my eye that is undeniable. It is written all over my face. I am indeed in the throws of an incredibly passionate love affair and he literally makes me swoon sometimes! 

We have a ritual of going out and eating French-fucking-toast on Friday mornings. It’s just what we do. Different diners, different pancake houses, you name it, we will try it. Not sure when exactly it started but every week I look forward to French toast Fridays with Switch. This week was the first time either of us realized, or at least spoke of, the fact that we have a pattern established. Like an old couple who do the same thing over and over. We have French toast.

So we sat laughing and talking like we always do over yummy breakfast and coffee when the subject of his granddad and his lady friend came up. We like to call them Andy Griffith and Dolly Parton since granddad loves Andy Griffith and his little lady, well, reminds us of Dolly Parton. No lie. They are both 82, have been in an affair for god knows how long and they are a fucking trip! Not sure which one of us said it first but we were both thinking it….Switch is my Andy and I’m his Dolly. Jokingly of course but to compare ourselves to these old fools is amusing.

For the remainder of that morning, last night and even today I have been referring to him as such with a giggle every time. And this weekend was filled with all sorts of domestic normalcies that I would otherwise take for granted. The mundane didn’t seem so mundane with him by my side. We have breakfast, watch TV, I crochet (yes, I actually crochet), he feeds the dog, we drink coffee, we talk, hell, we even worked on a construction side project at the house today…complete with nail gun and sweat equity. It’s all so routine but in no way ordinary!  

Oh yes indeed. It appears that Andy and Dolly have become domesticated. And I couldn’t ask for anyone better to share the mundane, everyday life with than my own personal Andy. He makes it all so much better.