Feeling Your Breast.

One of my favorite pair of celebrity boobs.

Being the bi-polar blogger I am, I would write about wanting things I can't have the day after I write about how fly I'm feeling. But let's face it, I have a vagina. That right there should explain it all. Thing is, in no way am I insecure. However, I do lack self-confidence. Does that even make sense? Hope so. That being said, I will always feel that there will be certain aspects of my personality that can be improved. I'm excited to work on these things because life is about growing as a person. But then, there come the things you can't change i.e. physical appearance, i.e. MY TITS.

Tits, tets, titties, tittays, tatas, boobs, boobies, breast, breasteses, jangs, melons, rack, cha-chas, honkers, headlights, hooters, knockers - whatever you wanna fucking call them, I will always want them. They just look so fun to have! Like a close confidant that'll never leave your side - err - front, you can always count on them. They make for nice head rest, and look awesome in tube tops, bikinis, and my personal favorite - v-neck shirts.

Going back to last Saturday when I was tooting my own horn, I'm pretty convinced that God didn't give me big boobs 'cuz he knew he would've created a MONSTER. Either that, or he knew it would've been a waste 'cuz I wouldn't know how to connivingly use them to my advantage. But the things I'd do with them if given the chance. Yes folks, I have a boobie bucket list, with titty-fucking on the top of it.

I know, I know, why right? WELL WHY THE HELL NOT?! I know it physically couldn't feel that good for me, but just to know that I could make some dude nut off of that alone is pretty cool. Second, on that list would be flashing someone. Not even for beads or a free drink, but just to brighten someone's day because I'm a joyous person like that. I mean imagine you're a dude waking up on the wrong side of the bed, getting in your car dreading to go to work. Then, at the light the chick next to you with the amazing rack says good morning and lifts up her shirt. Tell me that wouldn't put a smile on your face?

Lastlyl, I think I'd just buy a whole bunch of pretty bras, try them on, and stare at my tits in them. For at least a good half hour straight. I know that sounds kinda weak but even more than other people liking the way they look, I'd want to like the way they look even more.

Because when all is said and done, regardless of how many people tell you this and that - if you don't believe it yourself, it ain't nothing but noise.

So while I'll always have an infatuation with big, natural breast and tasteful implants, I could never get a boob job. For one, I'm too much of a hypochondriac to go through the actual surgery. And I really like being able to go top-commando sometimes. In about 10 years, I won't have to worry too much about them being down to my knees, and honestly, hearing my double deezy endowed friends complain about back aches doesn't sound so hot.

I find nothing wrong with altering your appearance whether naturally or via Dr. 90210, as long as you're doing it for yourself. You shouldn't have to go out and get botox, or breast implants, or butt injections for the things you lack (or in some cases i.e. lypo you have too much of). Instead, go out and find a guy that loves you and thinks you're beautiful because of the things you ALREADY have.

I once had a guy tell me my itty-bitties were "perfect." It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me about my body, what more about the part of my body that was practically non-existent. But it was really nice to hear because I know he meant it. I don't think they're "perfect," but I suppose they're perfect for me so I might as well have fun with them. Besides, I'd like to think I have bigger things to offer than just my cup-size.

BTW - the worst part about all of this wasn't that she was fine the way she was, or even that she looks like a completely different person - but that she did it for her anti-christ of a husband *smh* Heidi didn't need plastic surgery, she needed a therapist. And a hug.