Weight a minute…

It was probably intended as flattery, or dude is just bad with dimensions, but in the course of normal conversation last night, a guy asked me, “How much could you possibly weigh, like 110?”


Oh, honey.

Hair and breasts alone, you can’t possibly believe that.

I’m not complaining about my weight, I’m adorable. But I’m not 110.

Wait ’til you witness the reverb when you spank my ass, sir — adjust your numbers and report back.

Priorititties. (See what I did there?)

Reasons I’ve Clicked “Pass” on OKCupid Profiles: General Profile Infractions, Part 3

— He looks like he’d be Guitar Guy at parties.
— He talks shit on his exes in his profile.
— He has a photo of him and his ex in his profile. He acknowledges it’s poor form, but did it so all us lesser females can “see the type of woman I generally go for.” Because the detailed verbal description of your ex wasn’t enough.
— He’s in an open relationship. Sorry, no. I’ve already wasted too much time playing Lewinsky with a guy who placed me second. (Or, let’s be honest, like 50th — as priorities go, I seemed to rate above laundry, but below watching “The Last Action Hero” edited for time and content on TV.)
— Among the things he can’t do without: “Titties.” GOD, I hate that word. (Damn shame, too, because that’s my best feature. Sucks to be you, sir — should’ve been a little more tactful.)

That no-talent assclown…

Ever see that show “@midnight” when they do the Hashtag Wars?

Even if you haven’t, I’m pretty sure you’d agree that “Time, Love, and Breast Tenderness” would be a contender if the hashtag were #PMSsongs.


Additional prospects…
“Rock the Bloat”
“Baby Got Back Pain”
“Pour Some Sugar in Me”

This is why I can’t be trusted at sporting events.

I’m at a baseball game, and looking at the jugs on some of the male fans, I’m suddenly very grateful women get to wear bras.

Li’l chilly in the ballpark tonight, sir?

One manifestation of my repressed and rigid nature is that I prefer my breasts to be contained, lifted, and orderly. Can’t have that shit all willy-nilly.

Mammary philanthropy

Texting with a friend who tells me I’m too modest:

Me: “I thought you’d be amused to know my cleavage is making me uncomfortable today (disloyal shirt is shifting), and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Friend: “Think of it as spreading joy to others.”

Conceal. Don’t feel.

I look forward to the level of self-assurance/not giving a fuck of the older woman I just saw. Thirty years ago, she likely had a chest larger than my D cup. And today, she embraced her inner Elsa and just let it go — strapless cotton sundress, no bra.

I’m not even hating. Bless your heart, honey, you’ve earned it.

Nerd is the word.

A “friend” told me I could get the guys at the Apple Store to fix my phone for free if I wore a low-cut shirt when I went in.


1. I think this #YesAllWomen thing is working, y’all!

2. I hate that I’m half convinced he’s right, and half concerned my cleavage isn’t impressive enough to get me free stuff.

3. I think Apple dudes are above that, though. We’re not talking Lewis and Booger here — I think nerds* are embracing their power a little more now that we all have tiny computers in our pockets. We’re pretty much at their mercy and they know it. Plus, the guys at the Genius Bar could see much more than cleavage on their phones and rub one out in the store’s bathroom during their 15-minute break if shit really got dire — they don’t need ME. So as far as leverage, I think tech support > my tits. (Mine personally. Maybe yours can be exchanged for goods and services, and if so, good on you!)

3. Much as I’d love to tell you I’m totally offended because I’m such a great feminist and I’m better than that and “OMG, THE SISTERHOOD…” If that worked? I’d let it work. Fuck it, I’m broke. I’m not shattering a glass ceiling with a shattered iPhone — “That’s just… the rules of feminism.” They’re gonna look at my boobs no matter what. I’m sure as shit not giving them my money, too, if I don’t have to.

What, you’ve never seen a hypocrite before?

* I use “nerd” in the most loving connotation. Ain’t nothin’ sexier than a man who’ll fix my hard drive and then let me fix his. I’m a nerd hag. The Genius Bar is my meat market.

I’ve been ready for this jelly my whole life.

One of the reasons I love watching Scandal is that there are women with some curves up in that biz.

Skinny women are beautiful, too, but I do hope you’ll pardon me if I’m partial to a brunette with a great rack, curvaceous hips, and shapely thighs. Goddamn, girl, get it.20140415-200321.jpg