I Wanna Be A Flasher

What the fuck is the deal with boobs? Why do we all LOVE boobs so much?

Does anyone have an answer for me? At all?

No, no you don't. No one can tell me WHY we love them, just that we do. That everyone does. Any man who says he doesn't like boobs is saying that because he's never found a woman with boobs that would let him touch them and discover the magic.

I promise you, that is truth.
Women love boobs. Gay men love boobs. Straight men fucking LOVE boobs. Women compare themselves to other women based on the size of their boobs. I'm inclined to believe wars have been started, won, and lost over boobs.



By the way, you're welcome, America. I put those up there for you.

So anyway, back to what I was talking about... Wait, what was I talking about? Hell, even I don't know anymore...

Basically, I'm concerned. Yesterday, at work, this old lady(read: OLD AS FUCKING DIRT) stopped me as I was velcroing her shoes, and says, "You have BIG BOOBS. They're going to fall out all over the place."

First off, I can't wait until I can wear Velcro shoes and have it be totally acceptable. You know how many times a night I smack my face against the a wall or something because I trip over my shoe laces? None. But the fear is there. I am terrified I will someday do something that takes me on a head over heels trip to the ground, face first, and then what will I do? I have a fabulous face, and an 'eh' body. And once this face is gone, I have nothing else going for me in my favor. Sure, I have boobs, but no one marries ugly girls with great racks. I promise. I'd have to be rich or something.  Oh, wait, I don't want to get married anyway. Hell, bring on the face plant!!!

Secondly, why is this lady staring at my boobs? I'm 25 years old, she's like, 8 times that. Gross exaggeration, but that's okay. I'm great at those.

Mind you, I have on scrubs, which no person has EVER looked sexy in, or made cleavage look more awesome since the beginning of time. Well, except for George Clooney... But that man can sexify a Chuck E Cheese costume, true effing story...

I am wearing a bra and a tank top. Look, shit is strapped down like we're in combat. So please tell me why this lady thinks I'm about to fall out all over the place? My pants were more likely to go rogue on me than my damn boobs were.

I look at her, and I say, "My boobs are not about to fall out all over. Not at all. You're being silly."

So she grins, and says, "If I had boobs like that, I'd make them fall out all the time, just to mess with people." Oh my god... I don't know if she's having a moment of dementia, or sudden lucidity, but shit... This lady and I are going to be bff's. I can't wait until I can be the woman in the nursing home intentionally flashing my boobs at people.

The Boob Flasher. Totally going to be me when I'm 75. Well, it's probably not going to be pretty, since I'm blessed in the mammary region, and we all know that gravity takes over everything, but oh well... I'm still going to rock it out. You only live once, and if I end up in a nursing home when I'm old, I'm going to have some fun at other people's expense. And it's not like they can blame me or anything.

I'm old. I don't know what I'm doing. :)

***I also want it noted that I am writing this blog at 7PM on a fucking Saturday that I am off of work. Yeah, we can all tell just how fucking sad my life is. Thanks for reading this on Sunday morning, with your hangover. And also for not calling me to hang out with you while you got drunk on Saturday. Assholes.***

Blame It On Facebook... And Boobs

I'm no one special. In fact, the numerous people who walk past me everyday and don't even acknowledge my existence can definitely attest to my lack of extraordinary-ness. In their defense, I don't acknowledge them, either.
 I've found if you make eye contact, it encourages the stalker within, and suddenly some guy named Thomas Warburton is planning your future, complete with fairy princess wedding gowns, Las Vegas honeymoons full of strippers and cheap whiskey, and four snot nosed brats with your face and his (lack of) brains who ruin every nice thing you try to own in your RV/house. I've always wanted to travel... But I meant more as a hobby, not a way of life
.
 Again, off track. Sorry about that. Sometimes, I say things, which lead to other things, which then start these conversations with myself that mean absolutely nothing to anyone but myself and occasionally one or two other people, but everyone else is absolutely lost. Just try to hold on, and laugh a little, okay?

So back to the awesomeness that is my lack of specialness- I wish it were real. Okay? I do. I wish I was invisible to everyone BUT the ones I would like to be seen by. I don't quite know when it started... It just happened. I woke up one day, and suddenly, people STARED at me.
 Let me be clear- it wasn't the good, sexy, hot people that stare. It's the damned creeps. It's the ones who look like they go to the movies and go from seat to seat, picking up fallen hairs and saving them to weave them into a life-size companion to watch television with. THAT is the kind of love that follows me.

 Oh, you find this funny? Of course you do. Let me tell you a story about when I realized I had a problem with weirdos...

 There was a guy who decided to message me on Facebook and ask me out. Don't do that. That makes you a douchezilla, and it also makes me want to beat the shit out of you. I will never date a guy who asks me out over Facebook. That's not cool.
Actually, he didn't ask me out over facebook messages. Noooooo. He did so over comments. On a status of mine. Where God and fucking everyone could see it. "I was wondrin if mebbe u wanna  go out sumtime.' Are you fucking kidding me? No, dammit, I do NOT. You can't even spell sometime properly!
 Then there was the guy who I was friends with outside of Facebook, who kept asking me out and kept asking me out. I literally spelled it out for the man- how obvious do I gotta be? So one day, I just got sick and tired. So I tell him, look, I'm in love with this other guy. I don't want to date you.
 That should have ended it.

Except, this is MY life story. So of course it didn't end it. The bastard MESSAGED my best friend and told him exactly what I had said, when I had said it, why I had said it... Ugh. Basically, this guy seriously had some crazy stalker issues. My poor best friend was terrified that I was really in love with him... That poor kid. I almost felt sorry for him. It took weeks before he realized I really was using him as an excuse to avoid dating the loony bin.

Believe me, I could go on. And on. And on. And on. I attract nutters. Lunatics. Crazies. And stalkers. :) Yay, me.

My latest? This completely adorable guy from Walmart. Damn if he isn't just flippin' adorable. He's got really, really pretty eyes, which is probably why I didn't realize he was a creeper at first.

(I know there's a couple of you who think you know where I'm going with this, or who I am talking about. HAH! No you don't.)

Bless this man's heart, he's a credit to the company. Unless I'm there shopping. Then he turns into a fucking ninja, running around endcaps, hiding by sidestacks to watch me select cereal... It's just weird. And it all started because I asked him where I could find the ground turkey meat.

I just wanted ground turkey. That was it. It was the first of the month(yes, I know better, okay, I really do...) and it was insane. I tried as hard as I could to find it myself, but finally broke down and realized I'd have to aske if there was any in the back if I wanted to accomplish what I set out to do. So I walked up to the man working the meat wall(insert dirty, meat-handling double entendre here) and politely asked if he could help me  find something. He looked up, stared for a minute, and then kind of looked away and back again, like he wasn't sure I was talking to him.

"No, sir, I was asking the fresh turkeys behind you for help. Please stop interrupting our conversation. Weirdo."

"Yeah, I can help you with anything you need. Anything at all. What can I do for you?" He's got this big ass grin on his face... All I notice is that he has really pretty eyes, but he needs to stop using them to inspect my boobs.
So, he gets me what I ask for, and I forget he exists. I mean, come on... I was on a fucking mission, okay?

I come back to the store the next week, and I'm grabbing cheese, and he damn near runs over a three year old in his haste to ask if I need anything. "Um, no, I don't think so. Thanks." Everytime I turned down an aisle, I would see him watching me throughout the grocery section. Frankly, I was unaware I was watchable in yoga pants and a tshirt, but shit... Apparently I'm sexy and I didn't know it. :)

The basic message here is- the meat department guy is stalking me in walmart, so sometimes I throw really weird shit into my cart to scare him. Like the biggest bottle of lube I can find(or three) and humongous cucumbers. Because, shit... This guy is really annoying. You should have seen his eyes when he saw those... Sadly, I think it backfired, and now he just thinks I'm freaky like that.

Really, I am not. Cucumbers never held any sexual thrills for me, but I don't judge you if they do. I will just laugh at you.

So... anyway... I forgot what I was supposed to be writing about here. I'm sorry. I don't even know where I was trying to go with this... Just that it is what it is, and frankly... You shouldn't make eye contact with anyone unless you want them to stalk you. Because they probably will.