How the Grinch Stole My Body Image

My friends who know how self-conscious I get about my body will enjoy that my hormonal influx/weight gain had made me quite puffy today. So my favorite basic white t-shirt is unusually snug, and I've been walking around all day feeling like I'm mostly made of breasts. I feel like they suddenly grew three sizes like the goddamn Grinch's heart.

It's probably not ideal that I embrace this double standard...

You guys, Waffles Guy is trying to cocktease me! We're going out again tomorrow, and I've been flirting, but he's all "We'll see," and "Time will tell."

Oh! Oh, honey! That's adorable! But...hm, how can I phrase this politely...?

I look like Tina Fey's and Zooey Deschanel's chubby love child. (I call it "Fey-schanel.") I have big boobs and bigger daddy issues. I'm pretty sure I can catch a dick anytime I want.

That's not bragging, because it would be the wrong dick -- there's no ego trip in knowing a random dude would shove himself into me halfheartedly in a townie bar's restroom. But I believe it's within my scope of feminine wiles if I were so inclined. (Even better, lemme take my cleavage to Comic-Con and quote "Firefly." I'll be married by the end of the day.)

Besides, I'm not hinting at SEX, Presumpty Dumpty. I would just enjoy some kissing. I'm actually terrified to have sex, because it's been so long I'm worried I'll be terrible at it, or freak out mentally. So I'm perfectly happy to put off intercourse, but it's pretty important I know I turn you on, and that your hand gets in my panties pretty soon, 'kay?

Good talk. I'd high-five you, but I shouldn't be able to, because WHERE have we just decided your hands should be...?

Advantage: Breasts

Because computer dudes are that brand of sexy-hot-smart that makes my software tingle, I'm really not trying to generalize, so...#NotAllNerds.

But it's always amazing to me what I can get accomplished in my IT department with a tight sweater and a smile. They even let me eat their candy. (Not a euphemism.)

Let the record show I'd get naked with at least one of them, so I'm not JUST using my feminine wiles to get tech support. It's just a happy bonus.

Walking around naked. Like ya do.

The other day, my amazing friend* ran a body confidence class at the sex shoppe (yep, shoppe). For "homework," she assigned us to go home and spend an hour naked, checking out our bodies, noting the good, disregarding the bad, and just getting comfortable seeing them.

So I just emailed her and said, "Just letting you know I'm walking around naked. Carry on."

Not gonna lie, I'm NOTICING the bad. ("Really? Those are my boobs? Huh...") But overall, I'm kind of adorable.

Also, the heat in my house is up to like 80 degrees because brrrrr.

Also, I may have strange friendships. But they're the best.

* FYI, the friend is the lovely and talented Yvette St. James, and you should follow her on Twitter and attend all her classes because they're super fun and informative.

Breasts be with you. And also with you.

There's a freckle at the top of my right breast. For a long time I referred to it as The Freckle of Good Taste -- my shirts would never be low-cut enough to show it.

Yeahhh... Fuck that. Look at my freckle and fear me.

My friends are a good influence, plus I'm old and tired of giving a fuck. My breasts won't be this lovely forever, I might as well revel.

(I'm all bluster until the creepy dude at work checks out my rack. But even then -- he'd be leering at me if I wore a turtleneck. And I can't with turtlenecks, man. So sayeth the Hedberg: "Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day.")

I'll still consult The Freckle for family gatherings, and any time I'm forced to be in a place of worship. God is aware of what my breasts look like, He doesn't need to see them. (By the way, God is totally proud of my chest, even though pride is a sin. They're THAT good. Some of His best work.)

</ego trip>

 

My breasts want what they want.

I think my breasts need this shirt.   

Flashing for fries.

It is ass hot and 6000% humid, so obviously work clothes need to come off as soon as I walk in the house. But I had just taken off my bra when I realized that if I want dinner, I have to have it delivered. I prefer to have a bra on if I'm human-facing, but I'm not putting that damn thing back on, leading to this actual thing I just said to myself out loud: "Fuck it. Deal with my breasts, delivery guy."

Think I could get the fries for free? I like to pretend I'm better than that, but...I'm exhausted and hungry, so I'm really not.