Could you speak up and stop mu-mumbling, I don’t think you came in clear
When you’re sittin’ on the top, it’s hard to hear you from way up here
I saw you tryin’ to act cute on TV, “Just let me clear the air…”
We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that’s right you wasn’t there
If se-sexy never left, then why’s everybody on my shi-it-it
Don’t hate on me just because you didn’t come up with it
So if you see us in the club, go on and walk the other way
Cause our run will never be over, not at least until we say
– Timbaland feat. Nelly Furtado, Justin Timberlake
I got up early Saturday morning wanting a huge plate of breakfast food. I pulled back the vertical blinds. The sun was shining, it was gorgeous out, and I was running low on quite a few make-up items. The decision was made – I was spending the day walking around downtown.
I took a shower.
I nearly cried in front of the mirror trying to put on my face. I almost ripped every strand of blonde hair out of my head in an attempt to tame the mane. And then, I threw back my closet doors. Ugh. Everything was either too big, too dressy, or too smelly. So, I grabbed blindly – a Bombshell bra, chambray button-up, black leggings, and grey tennis shoes.
I was a fucking mess.
Anyhow, I’m walking the streets of San Diego, right? It’s a Saturday morning and I feel like I’m dressed appropriately. But despite how comfortable I looked, I felt totally immobile. I kept tugging at my shirt. I unbuttoned this button and buttoned that button. I fidgeted with my purse. I checked myself out in store front windows. At one point, I literally pulled my pants down at a crosswalk. “Just what the hell is going on here?” I thought to myself. “Do I have camel toe? Is it this shirt? What the hell? I just wore this thing the other week! Oh hold on… just hold. tha. fuck. onnnnnn.”
I quit wearing my Bombshell bras (adds 2 cup sizes!) months ago.
Let us take a moment to let that sink in.
Why yes, my fanatical followers, ’tis true. I am healed. And, might I add, well on my way to getting that coveted six month coin…
Which is precisely when it occurred to me, “This bitch isn’t fitting right ’cause I’ve fallen off the goddamn wagon!”
I promptly started ripping off my top at the corner of 7th and Island. Tiny buttons were popping off in every which direction – black memory foam flying. Luckily, I was able to spot a light from a passing patron and set what was left of that bastard ablaze. If I hadn’t been so worked up, I probably could have heard the faint sounds of Jane Fonda jazzercising herself into a frenzy over my blatant disregard for all things over-sexed and underwired. “Free at last! Free. at. last!” I yelled, spirit fingers held high up to the sky, “Thank Mary, Jesus, and Victoria’s Secret, I’m free at last!”
That was a lie.
I didn’t burn my bra.
But I did walk my happy ass to Express, bought a bralette, and made a wardrobe change in the dressing room.
I chuckled as I threw my bag over my shoulder, smiled, and all but finger-gunned my way out of the store. The little cashier – the same one who flirted with me the entire time he rang up my items – probably thought, “Tha hell? Where’d her tits go?!”
And that thought alone made my entire day.
You see, that’s the thing, my friends.
I actually find it funny now.
In a past life, I wouldn’t have been caught dead without “my boobs.” In a past life, I would have never posted a picture of myself on the internet without my entire face made up. Hell, in a past life, I censored the bad words on my own fucking website.
Who knows? Maybe I felt like I had something to prove. Or maybe my idea of beauty was all fucked up because of Hollywood, and airbrushing, and that goddamn Gigi Hadid. Or maybe I was insecure. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like I was… enough.
Actually, that is exactly what it was.
I was in a shit relationship, with a shit person, who made me feel like everything I did, and said, and felt, and thought just wasn’t fucking good enough. So, I did all I could to project this perfect persona out into the universe. Because maybe some things really are mind over matter, right?
Maybe if I built huge boobs – they would come.
In a past life, Ballas, it was all about what people thought and not about what they knew…
But now, I know better.
Now, I accept all compliments from the little cashier behind the counter despite the fact I stand before him with my hair a mess and in tennis shoes… because I know he’s being sincere. Now, I don’t hesitate to post pictures of myself on the internet when I’m wearing hardly any make-up or clothes… because that’s how I spend most of my life. Now, I type out the entire curse word… because using symbols doesn’t make me any more polite. Now, I wear bralettes, and bras without padding, and go braless, and never use my chicken cutlets… because I’m starting to realize no one gives a shit about my boobs anyway.
Now, I feel enough.
I feel enough exactly the way I am.
Disclaimer: Objects in the first two pictures may be smaller than they appear. That’s because, well, they are. Two cup sizes smaller, to be specific. The next two pictures are my new normal. Although, I will admit, it is a push-up too. The last bra pic is what I look like when I get up and say to myself, “Hey self, I feel like running around naked today. Howevs, I don’t feel like dealing with everyone staring at my nipples for the next 8 hours.” Lastly, the final two photos are… well, honestly, someone told me recently, “I’d probably read your blog more if you posted more scandalous pictures.” And let’s get real here, people, I’m about as hard up for readers as Trump is for female voters.
Photo Cred: Please excuse all of the shit in the background of my photos as I am not a super sophisticated “fashion blogger.” Nor have I been able to convince any of my “friends” back home to quit their life, move out to San Diego, follow me around, and take pictures of me doing shit – for free. Selfish bastards. Anywho, I also don’t normally wear this much make-up to work. However, I haven’t slept since, like, March (hints: why you’re probs thinking, “I feel like she’s looked… better?”). Figured, instead of showing up to work looking like Maleficent (the cartoon version), I’d do ’em a solid this morning and throw on some eyeliner. Plus, I needed my roots done, ummm, three-ish weeks ago? Oh, and, why my tan lines look so much worse in the first two pictures… I have no idea. Maybe because they are so much closer to the camera? Who knows? Same filters (Chrome+Nashville) were used on all photos and no other edits were made (refer to the Photo Cred section of Untitled for more deets on how I choose to edit all my nekkid pics).
Moving on, if you are in the market for a boost (2 whole cup sizes!), check out the Victoria’s Secret Bombshell bra. Just looking for a good push-up (no padding)? Check out the Body by Victoria or the Perfect Shape T-Shirt bra (the grey one I wore in Untitled [it’s my favorite]). If you have been wanting to try a bralette but haven’t found one under 40 bucks (seriously, all they do is cover your nipples)… go to Express! Their One Eleven collection bras are so cute ‘n comfy and they are all less than $25.00! I have this one (posted here and on Insta a few days ago) and this one (posted above). Have any questions? Go get sized! VS does it all day, every day – for free! I would have never imagined I was a DD but I’ve been measured several times over the last year, in several different VS stores, by several different VS girls and sho ’nuff… #throwsomeDsonthatB
Unsure about any of the products listed above?
Remember, nobody paid me for shit! (thumbs up + wink)
Oh, and one last thing: