Don't be a boob!

As I was reading other people's blogs, I began to get saddened b/c I couldn't think of a good thing to blog about. Thankfully, I was online with my AFL and crazy cousin. They helped me by telling me to blog about something I know well...sippy cups, shout it out, stalkers, or BOOBS. What did I choose? Boobs of course, because I do know them well, well, mine anyway. So here goes nothing. If you are a male, you should pretend to be a female to look at it from our prospective.

I remember when I was about 12 or 13 starting to get boobs. Yes, I am becoming a "women" (or so that is what my mom told me). I got to wear my first "training" bra. Did I really need to wear one? The answer is No, the bites on my arms for the family camp out where the mosquitoes thought I was an all you can eat buffet were bigger then my boobs. But damn I thought I was cool. Gym class was once a day and I now had to wear a sports bra. Hell I could have just used some band aide and that would have been all I needed, but I would much rather wear a sports bra. However, now that myself and my friends were all getting boobs, we couldn't let any of the other girls in the locker room see them. This is when we mastered the magic trick of taking off one bra, putting on a sports bra and changing shirts without even a little nipple being flashed.

(Yep, see how flat this manican is? That is how flat I was, but I sure as hell wasn't going to go without a bra...like it mattered)

After a year or two later (depending on if the first part started in 7th or 8th grade) I was in high school. Now I was at the point were I didn't give a shit if the other girls saw my boobs, they were in sports with me, we changed and showered in the same locker room everyday after practice. You can only hide your boobs for so long before you feel like being in your own pretend "Girl Gone Wild" show in the locker room. It started quite innocently but just comparing different "cool" bras.

Then, we get more used to one another...hell we are in a town of 500 people. We have known one another since we were on the nipple why are we being so prissy? Now, the real girls gone wild comes out. We are running around topless like me have not a care in the world. Did we care that there were huge wall length mirrors that allowed everyone to see into the locker room when the door was opened...HELL NO. Shit happens, life goes on.

Then, I began to find that my boobs were useful in holding stuff, or just good photo ops.
This was taken my senior year of high school. As you can see, my cleavage is now to the point that I can hold things in there...and my best friend thought it was a great time for a photo op. I am sure that somewhere there is a pic of me hold a beer there are well. I also have a picture...which I have come to the conclusion that someone has taken...of my friends and I with duct tape over our boobs that says CENSORED...and yes, for the record, duct tape on the boobs HURTS. But it was worth the picture. Speaking of tape...have any of you females forgotten your sports bra for a game and had to be taped? Take note that if you ever need to tape your boobs for any reason, don't ask my friends as I to do it, you will look like a mummy from the belly button to armpits, but it won't do a damn bit of good. If you need proof you can ask my friend "Nice Story Kayla".

My family has questioned where I got my "GIFT", if that is what you want to call it. My boobs once had names, however I can't seem to remember them...most likely because when I decided to name them I was 3 drinks over the "remember things" bar. However, they are big enough to have names, they have earned that. When your boobs get to the point that you can no longer buy bras at a normal place (IE. target, walmart, victoria secret) because they don't carry the size you require...each breast gets its own name. When they get to the point that you scoot your chair close to the desk so you can rest them there...they deserve to be acknowledged. An example of how they can be a pain besides in the back and shoulders would be what happened today, and what spawned this blog. I was attempting to reach the extension cord behind my computer desk however thanks to my boobs, I was about 3 inches short. I couldn't reach it, no matter how much I squished the little bastards they were just there. Yes, I can stand against a wall and they will touch the wall before my nose. No, I can't wear that because my boobs don't fit. No, I can't get that swimming suit because I have to get an XL top (and take it in around not in the cup) but I need and XS bottom...Oh, you don't sell it like that. The list goes on and on.Am I proud of them? You betcha!! Anytime I get a little alcohol in me, I have to take a booby pictures. I have some with just me...and I have even gotten my friends into the action even though they will not come close to trumping my size. (I am sorry to say that I can't post any examples b/c I have been grounded from AFL) I do not allow them to come out in the open too much. I am not like Paris Hilton and flash my "ta tas" for everyone to see. I know how to keep my (Hooter) "owls-as they were referred to by my friends in high school" in the cage. I also have a nickname from high school...that some still use to this day. Ready..."Big Boobs McGee", yep, that's me. But take note that I am A LA NATURAL...not fake ladies. I have however, found a way for now to end this on a good note...I hope. You see, I have this little problem called being stalked by the "coperotsi" as I like to call them. No, they don't take pictures of me or anything like that. But they do stalk me, I swear they do. In my 10-15minutes drive to work I bet I see at least 3 every day. Wherever I am, they are too. They seem to follow me but not pull me over...KNOCK ON WOOD! Anyway, I figure that my "gift" may be able to help me if I get pulled over.

Hello officer, I didn't know I was speeding. I am so sorry.

Can you let me off with a warning this one time...PLEASE. (Ooops, one of my owls flew the coop) Oh, I am so embarrassed, I am sorry sir. Like I was saying, can I please have a warning. You are such a nice cop.