DISCLAIMER- If you haven't figured it out by now, I have a salty dialogue. I am too risque to even make any money from ads on this blog. So if anything offends you, STOP READING!!
I want you to read, obviously, but I don't want to hear how my language gets your panties on a wad.
Thanks, sorry I even had to post that.
So as I mentioned last week, I began my run clinic at The Running Room this Monday.
Just a quick bump. The staff at the Nameo store were very nice to me, even though it is painfully obvious I have NO IDEA how to run or be a runner.
I walked in with my baby, who was actively trying to destroy the store, and somehow was able to sign the start up paperwork.
The manager even held the paper down so I could sign it and wrestle the baby to the counter.
So all day Monday I was doing the nervous dance. I felt like I had restless leg syndrome, or I was possessed by a polka dancer. Like my legs KNEW what was coming, and were trying to get away before I subjected them to such torture.
Who could blame them really? After a year and a half of doing nothing more strenuous then walking to the fridge and back to the couch, I was freaking out as well.
While the baby was napping, I started to get dressed. (only 5 hours ahead of time)
It felt like a first date.
I wanted to impress these running strangers.
I think I changed my shirt about 5 times, trying to get the proper blend of hidden but not tent like.
First impressions last a lifetime, and I didn't want to experience the hot yoga class wardrobe fail again.
When you sign up for a clinic, you get this spiffy shirt, with the Running Room logo right across the love jugs. Talk about prime advertising space. I wonder how much Coca Cola would pay for that.....
Anyways, while I have proudly worn the shirt around the house, walking around the lake,to Walmart, and while on the elliptical, I was scared to go to my clinic with it on.
Why? Well unlike when I do the head nod to the people running around the lake,
(as if to say, "Hey, I'm a runner too, just look at my boobs. I just have to go slow because of the baby.")
The people at the Running Room are real runners.
They will see me jiggling down the lane, huffing and heaving my life away.
*Side note- My kid loves it when I run with him. He often screams at me when we slow down. He also enjoys base jumping off the stairs and having all the windows in the car rolled down so the wind can whip his hair around.*
The other reason I chose to wear an old t shirt was the material. The nifty shirt from the Running Room is that super slinky sweat wicking stuff, and you can see EVERYTHING. Every roll, every bulge, and all the side boob spillage you can ever imagine.
Did I mention the two bras I chose to don?
After having my left boob almost pop right out of the single bra during one of my own runs last week, drastic measures had to be taken to ensure no further nip slips happened.
I gave very serious thought to duct tape.
So I get to the clinic, and I quickly look around. Hoping to not be the chubby girl. I can handle the funny one, or even the quiet one (even though its a stretch) but I hate being the chubby girl in class.
We have some old, some young, some skinny and a few of us who know our way around a cheese ball. Whew, definitely not to be singled out, this is good.
The clinic begins with a talk about nutrition. I feel have been doing very well here, I even order salad when I go to the Golden arches now. Yay me.
(Although to be fair I would seriously harm someone who got in the way of me and a Quarter Pounder.)
I find out quickly I am eating too much, not the right stuff, and at all the wrong times. (Not that she was pointing and scolding me, but in my head I was kicking my own ass.) I sat in the second row, with the nasty feeling in the pit of my gut, like I was being called to the principals office. With the nausea rolling around from being a terrible eater and the nerves of embarrassing myself while running, I was a wreck.
We start out on our run, and I feel like I'm going to puke. I could just get back in my car and have a cheeseburger and the world would be a happy place once again. No one would have to know, I could fake a phone call or something and be out quick. Then the instructor, who looks like a kindergarten teacher, all smiles and kind words, yells "RUN" and I get caught up in the pack.
Don't pee your pants Liz. Don't puke. Don't pass out. Don't have an asthma attack.
This is my inner chant as I find my pace. When you run, the instructor tells us, you should be able to have a conversation comfortably, or your pace is too fast.
A most of my conversations with strangers are uncomfortable anyways, so I try to strike up a few.
It goes as expected, they think I'm funny for a nanosecond, then I offend them in some way.
Story of my life.
Before you know it, we are turning around to head back to the store. Surely this can't be it? Seven measly minutes of running? I say as much to the assistant instructor, who assures me this is how you build endurance.
"Only practice this 3 times a week. The biggest mistake people make when they start is over doing it."
You don't say? That's never happened to me before.
I spent the next day and a half wondering if that was some sort of joke they play on new runners, just to make us feel good about ourselves for not keeling over, only to have the next class be a marathon.
But it was just the same. In fact, easier. I was hardly puffing, I had a conversation with someone who appreciates the word fuck as much as I do, and I could have ran back to the store instead of walking.
Now here's the test. I'm away for the next week. The new run rhythm is run for a minute, walk for a minute, repeat ten times. Only ten times!
I am very optimistic about all this tonight.
Thanks for reading, it keeps me going to know that someone cares how this is progressing for me.
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Saturday, 27 July 2013
Asses Asses Everywhere.....
So before I begin with the Hot yoga post, I just want to say a few things.
Last night I got into a discussion with some other people regarding an issue I'm extremely passionate about.
I did not agree with what they said, so I expressed my own opinion.
I grant you, my opinion was dripping in sarcasm, and I may have used the words "tree hugging", but not vulgar by any stretch of the imagination.
I am a great believer in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I think that hundreds and hundreds of men and women have died so that you and I can express ourselves freely.
I was shocked and furious when I was censored by the site administrator for being offensive. She didn't just censor me, but everyone who had anything to say about the issue. A total power move.
Anyway, I have given this too much of my time and attention. If this wine guzzling, fake tan,Barbie doll Stepford,plastic,bored shithead wants to have her own little circle jerk, go nuts. I have my own, and we don't infringe on your rights and freedoms here. :)
Now back to uncensored awesomeness.....
I have been trying to drop a few pounds before my running class starts on Monday,so I don't have to wear my Spanx to jog, and I had heard all about how amazing hot yoga is for weight loss.
Seemed like my kinda deal, sit in a nice warm room, sweat a little, stretch and listen to soft music.
The studio was so serene, and had free tea, fruit and mats.
Sounded like a vacation.
When I got to the studio, the first thing I noticed was my clothes.
I was dressed like a bum.
(or an exhausted mom, its pretty much the same thing some days)
My faded pair of Walmart yoga Capri's, and an ancient Old Navy tank top. I was immediately surrounded by a sea of Lycra, in eye piercingly loud colors,all sporting that goofy symbol that reminds me that the company that makes those clothes meets the criteria for cult status.
(I'm serious. Go do some reading. It'll make you think twice before you shell out 120 bucks to wear sweatpants.)
Also I was the only person with a plastic disposable water bottle, which made most of the girls look at me like I was toting around a dead puppy. FML
I rolled out my mat,in the very back of the class, and took a few mins to enjoy the warmth, the low lighting and the soothing Asian music. Just give me a glass of wine and I'd be set.
Besides,when you live with a 9 month old who can scoot around like greased lighting, any quiet,still moment is like winning the lottery.
The instructor comes into the room, and is also cloaked in Culty Spandex. Microscopic scraps of Culty Spandex that probably cost more than my car payment. I immediately dislike her.
So its not too warm in the room, just nice. The poses are okay, hard but not too bad.
I go down in my plank pose, then up to cobra and BAM!
The handle bars ALL came out. Rows and rows of sweaty asses, sucked into Culty Lycra, with thongs riding so high I was shocked they weren't slicing the girls in half.
The girls and I have talked about thongs and full backs under leggings, but this was crazy.
I am almost positive the instructor was mud-flapping it (no underwear) as her shorts could have doubled as dental floss.
So up and down I went, sun salutation,downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Sun salutation, downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Who wears a lilac lace thong to hot yoga? Unbelievable.
There is no wicking capability there...like none.
About halfway through the class, someone opened the door to Hell and things got crazy.
I was sweating EVERYWHERE, and thought I was going to pass right out.
Nice first yoga class, pass out in a hot,sweaty mess while the cult bunnies are just glistening like perfect thong wearing, Lycra wrapped rotisserie chickens.
Knowing my luck I would have let out the giant fart I was holding in the whole class just to really solidify my dead puppy carrying, sweaty homeless woman ensemble I was inadvertently going for.
I can barely hold up my downward dog, my feet are soaked and wrinkly.
I did a move backwards, as my cognition was slipping away, and the chick besides me smartly tells me "You're doing it wrong".
If she was 10 years younger, I would have flicked my sweaty hand across her face, but in my messy state, I wasn't sure I could have kicked her greased up old ass. No one wants to get beat up by a grandma in 300 dollar active wear.
Finally Mud Flap Yogi calls it a day.
An hour has elapsed, and I almost passed out 3 times.
I sit in my child's pose, noisily dripping sweat on my mat like a leaky faucet.
My clothes are soaked, and I'm panting like a dog. I managed to do most of the poses, and only laughed at the instructor once when she tried to get me to do this super crazy move where I was only balancing on the ball of one foot. Yeah, I'll get right on that.
I did feel pretty good afterward, but I get the same feeling after sitting in the sauna for a half hour. And there are no soggy thongs staring me in the face there.
Clear winner in my opinion.
I will take the creepy leering old men in the Sauna anyday.
Not too many thongs in there thank goodness.
Last night I got into a discussion with some other people regarding an issue I'm extremely passionate about.
I did not agree with what they said, so I expressed my own opinion.
I grant you, my opinion was dripping in sarcasm, and I may have used the words "tree hugging", but not vulgar by any stretch of the imagination.
I am a great believer in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I think that hundreds and hundreds of men and women have died so that you and I can express ourselves freely.
I was shocked and furious when I was censored by the site administrator for being offensive. She didn't just censor me, but everyone who had anything to say about the issue. A total power move.
Anyway, I have given this too much of my time and attention. If this wine guzzling, fake tan,Barbie doll Stepford,plastic,bored shithead wants to have her own little circle jerk, go nuts. I have my own, and we don't infringe on your rights and freedoms here. :)
Now back to uncensored awesomeness.....
I have been trying to drop a few pounds before my running class starts on Monday,so I don't have to wear my Spanx to jog, and I had heard all about how amazing hot yoga is for weight loss.
Seemed like my kinda deal, sit in a nice warm room, sweat a little, stretch and listen to soft music.
The studio was so serene, and had free tea, fruit and mats.
Sounded like a vacation.
When I got to the studio, the first thing I noticed was my clothes.
I was dressed like a bum.
(or an exhausted mom, its pretty much the same thing some days)
My faded pair of Walmart yoga Capri's, and an ancient Old Navy tank top. I was immediately surrounded by a sea of Lycra, in eye piercingly loud colors,all sporting that goofy symbol that reminds me that the company that makes those clothes meets the criteria for cult status.
(I'm serious. Go do some reading. It'll make you think twice before you shell out 120 bucks to wear sweatpants.)
Also I was the only person with a plastic disposable water bottle, which made most of the girls look at me like I was toting around a dead puppy. FML
I rolled out my mat,in the very back of the class, and took a few mins to enjoy the warmth, the low lighting and the soothing Asian music. Just give me a glass of wine and I'd be set.
Besides,when you live with a 9 month old who can scoot around like greased lighting, any quiet,still moment is like winning the lottery.
The instructor comes into the room, and is also cloaked in Culty Spandex. Microscopic scraps of Culty Spandex that probably cost more than my car payment. I immediately dislike her.
So its not too warm in the room, just nice. The poses are okay, hard but not too bad.
I go down in my plank pose, then up to cobra and BAM!
The handle bars ALL came out. Rows and rows of sweaty asses, sucked into Culty Lycra, with thongs riding so high I was shocked they weren't slicing the girls in half.
The girls and I have talked about thongs and full backs under leggings, but this was crazy.
I am almost positive the instructor was mud-flapping it (no underwear) as her shorts could have doubled as dental floss.
So up and down I went, sun salutation,downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Sun salutation, downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Who wears a lilac lace thong to hot yoga? Unbelievable.
There is no wicking capability there...like none.
About halfway through the class, someone opened the door to Hell and things got crazy.
I was sweating EVERYWHERE, and thought I was going to pass right out.
Nice first yoga class, pass out in a hot,sweaty mess while the cult bunnies are just glistening like perfect thong wearing, Lycra wrapped rotisserie chickens.
Knowing my luck I would have let out the giant fart I was holding in the whole class just to really solidify my dead puppy carrying, sweaty homeless woman ensemble I was inadvertently going for.
I can barely hold up my downward dog, my feet are soaked and wrinkly.
I did a move backwards, as my cognition was slipping away, and the chick besides me smartly tells me "You're doing it wrong".
If she was 10 years younger, I would have flicked my sweaty hand across her face, but in my messy state, I wasn't sure I could have kicked her greased up old ass. No one wants to get beat up by a grandma in 300 dollar active wear.
Finally Mud Flap Yogi calls it a day.
An hour has elapsed, and I almost passed out 3 times.
I sit in my child's pose, noisily dripping sweat on my mat like a leaky faucet.
My clothes are soaked, and I'm panting like a dog. I managed to do most of the poses, and only laughed at the instructor once when she tried to get me to do this super crazy move where I was only balancing on the ball of one foot. Yeah, I'll get right on that.
I did feel pretty good afterward, but I get the same feeling after sitting in the sauna for a half hour. And there are no soggy thongs staring me in the face there.
Clear winner in my opinion.
I will take the creepy leering old men in the Sauna anyday.
Not too many thongs in there thank goodness.
Friday, 19 July 2013
Music is my religion.- Jimi Hendrix
Anyone who has known me for more than a few days knows a few key things about me and my life.
1) Don't talk to me about religion. I have held my views for a very long time, did all my research and everyone ends up not liking what I have to say.
2) Food and drink and the comfort and ritual of them make me happy. I didn't bake 30 cupcakes and decorate them to make you feel uncomfortable or like less of a person, but to make you feel welcome and special in my home. Deal with it.
3) I love music. Mostly any kind. If I had no TV and only a radio (which has happened a few times in my past) I would be totally fine.
Besides books, music is my greatest pleasure. Just look at my credit card statement at any given time and that's what you will see, Kobo and Itunes charges.
I listen to spa music,nature instrumentals,symphony recordings, ambient music,classic rock, death metal,angry chick rock, soul,jazz,r&b,dance,dubstep,electronica,Latin music, Thai rock, country,folk, top 40 pop,rap,Elvis and everything else in between.
My Itunes is chock full of all sorts crazy music, and I love it.
This eclectic music obsession comes directly from my Family. I was exposed to so much when I was a kid. My mom had cassettes of every imaginable musical genre, and always had the radio on in the car or at home.
My grandma liked country music, and when you only had 3 TV stations, 4 if the weather was good and you adjusted the bunny ears, music saved your sanity.
The other great thing about this musical buffet was my innate ability to remember lyrics. Its my Rain man thing. Once I hear a song about twice, I can recall all the lyrics once the song begins to play.
My mom used to brag to her friends that her 6 year old could sing "Mustafa" (from Queen's Jazz Album) which is sung in English, Arabic and Parsi. Still can BTW.
So when I thought about music in respect to running, I had alot to choose from.
Sports teams and players all have a "pump up" song.
Some use their national anthem, others popular songs.
My best friend in high school had an older brother who played hockey.
Him and his best friend used to listen to "Lighting Crashes" by Live and Tom Petty's "Free Falling" before a game.
For those who have never heard these songs, go Google it.
I still laugh just thinking about these two tough guys, heading to a violent sport, singing their hearts out to what I consider the least energising songs.
But it worked for them,which is all that matters.
So I asked you my dear readers, what do you listen to to get you pumped up?
I was hoping to use some of the suggestions on my own playlist.
While Miley Cyrus' "We can't stop" was mentioned, I'm afraid my KISS army card would be immediately revoked if I downloaded it. Gene Simmons would know......
Same with Justin Bieber. When I hear the words "As long as you love me", all I see is the Backstreet Boys. And I am in a good place with that.
"Sail" by Awolnation is a great song, but for running purposes, get a remix, with a faster beat. Totally added to my Ipod.
"State of Massachusetts" by the Drop Kick Murphy's also made my cut, as I have been a fan of theirs since "Kiss me I'm Shitfaced" was first sung on St. Patty's day.
I also did some trolling of my own, and found that if you type in Workout music in the Istore, alot of music comes up.
Beware of the remakes. Some are decent, and you really cant make out that its not the original artist, and some sound like bad karaoke.There is this track of "Sexy and I know it" that sounds like William Shatner sang it in a Spanish accent.
Too funny.
My "get my ass" in gear song is "Move ya body" by Nina Sky. I also enjoy "Stronger" by Kanye West (Even though I think he's a dick)
I always start my workout with "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke feat. T.I and Pharrell.
Will I Am is always a good pump up listen, even with the Beib's in "Power" and Brittney Spears in "Scream and Shout".
Music drives me, and its been working, as I have increased my total run time to 17 Min's. Not bad for someone who used to be winded climbing the stairs to my bedroom.
Next week-Hot yoga.
1) Don't talk to me about religion. I have held my views for a very long time, did all my research and everyone ends up not liking what I have to say.
2) Food and drink and the comfort and ritual of them make me happy. I didn't bake 30 cupcakes and decorate them to make you feel uncomfortable or like less of a person, but to make you feel welcome and special in my home. Deal with it.
3) I love music. Mostly any kind. If I had no TV and only a radio (which has happened a few times in my past) I would be totally fine.
Besides books, music is my greatest pleasure. Just look at my credit card statement at any given time and that's what you will see, Kobo and Itunes charges.
I listen to spa music,nature instrumentals,symphony recordings, ambient music,classic rock, death metal,angry chick rock, soul,jazz,r&b,dance,dubstep,electronica,Latin music, Thai rock, country,folk, top 40 pop,rap,Elvis and everything else in between.
My Itunes is chock full of all sorts crazy music, and I love it.
This eclectic music obsession comes directly from my Family. I was exposed to so much when I was a kid. My mom had cassettes of every imaginable musical genre, and always had the radio on in the car or at home.
My grandma liked country music, and when you only had 3 TV stations, 4 if the weather was good and you adjusted the bunny ears, music saved your sanity.
The other great thing about this musical buffet was my innate ability to remember lyrics. Its my Rain man thing. Once I hear a song about twice, I can recall all the lyrics once the song begins to play.
My mom used to brag to her friends that her 6 year old could sing "Mustafa" (from Queen's Jazz Album) which is sung in English, Arabic and Parsi. Still can BTW.
So when I thought about music in respect to running, I had alot to choose from.
Sports teams and players all have a "pump up" song.
Some use their national anthem, others popular songs.
My best friend in high school had an older brother who played hockey.
Him and his best friend used to listen to "Lighting Crashes" by Live and Tom Petty's "Free Falling" before a game.
For those who have never heard these songs, go Google it.
I still laugh just thinking about these two tough guys, heading to a violent sport, singing their hearts out to what I consider the least energising songs.
But it worked for them,which is all that matters.
So I asked you my dear readers, what do you listen to to get you pumped up?
I was hoping to use some of the suggestions on my own playlist.
While Miley Cyrus' "We can't stop" was mentioned, I'm afraid my KISS army card would be immediately revoked if I downloaded it. Gene Simmons would know......
Same with Justin Bieber. When I hear the words "As long as you love me", all I see is the Backstreet Boys. And I am in a good place with that.
"Sail" by Awolnation is a great song, but for running purposes, get a remix, with a faster beat. Totally added to my Ipod.
"State of Massachusetts" by the Drop Kick Murphy's also made my cut, as I have been a fan of theirs since "Kiss me I'm Shitfaced" was first sung on St. Patty's day.
I also did some trolling of my own, and found that if you type in Workout music in the Istore, alot of music comes up.
Beware of the remakes. Some are decent, and you really cant make out that its not the original artist, and some sound like bad karaoke.There is this track of "Sexy and I know it" that sounds like William Shatner sang it in a Spanish accent.
Too funny.
My "get my ass" in gear song is "Move ya body" by Nina Sky. I also enjoy "Stronger" by Kanye West (Even though I think he's a dick)
I always start my workout with "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke feat. T.I and Pharrell.
Will I Am is always a good pump up listen, even with the Beib's in "Power" and Brittney Spears in "Scream and Shout".
Music drives me, and its been working, as I have increased my total run time to 17 Min's. Not bad for someone who used to be winded climbing the stairs to my bedroom.
Next week-Hot yoga.
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Beating the Sweater Meat, THE SEQUEL-Two Against One.....
So I was going to write about music this week, but the fascination with the bozongas has forced to me have a second part to the story.
I realise, as I always do AFTER I post something, that I kinda cut the shopping trip part short in order to not sound rambly.
While I like Grampa Simpson, I'd rather not sound like him. Although a mid-blog nap does sound really good right now.......
Anyways, the sports bra I ended up taking home is working fine. If you don't mind the side boob.
And the muffin top titties. Oh and don't forget the back fat....never forget about the back fat.
You see when I picked this torture device off the rack, I only looked at the band width, which is 42. I am a 40-42.
So I thought this would be an easy fit.
But I was wrong. So very wrong.
While it did pass the drunk girl bouncy test in the dressing room, what I didn't tell you is I had to get into it one hooter at a time.
Let me walk you through how that worked.
For those of you with kids, you know how this first step looks.
Put the bra over my head and squeeze the bingo wings through the minuscule arm holes.
Its okay if it looks like Play-Doh coming out of the press, that's what its supposed to look like
Next I stand there looking like I am Houdini in the straight jacket, arms still partially up, and pray I can get this bitch off later without cutting it.
With my tits still hanging down to my belly button, naturally.
Somehow I managed some leverage, enough to reach thru the top of the bra, pulling whatever I could grab through the vacuum packing, getting one fun bag half into the bra. Now I have one full boob hanging out of the bra, and the other is almost all in, except my nipple, with is still due south, but partially covered.
At least at this point I could lower my arms. Yay me.
With one tater tot in, I stuffed the other one up into the sausage casing, happy to no longer look like a sideshow attraction.
I really did look like someone had tied a rope around a tube of biscuit dough. There were parts of me hanging and bulging out everywhere.
Thelma and Louise were not happy about the forcible confinement, and were trying to make a break for it from multiple angles.
Now to the arrangement. I felt like I was working on a Bonsai tree, I did so many tweaks on the Dairy Bombs.
No,to the left, now the right, too much side boob, top spillage....push`em back down.
Too much under boob!! Wait wait, now there are four!! How are there four??
Lets worry about the front, the back can wait a minute.
Nipples! They should be pointing ahead, not east west and south. Ahead, not hiding under the armpits!!
This sports bra, which was obviously meant for a smaller cup sized 42, actually did fit, it just took me 10 mins to squeeze into.
Passed the jiggle test, once adjusted, and kept the Girls flat as pancakes.
Which was the whole point.
I could care less how it looks, as long as I don't get knocked out while running.
I haven`t been knocked out while running (yet) BTW.
So now you know the lengths in which I went to subdue my milk cannons.
I`ll let you know how Hot Yoga went, and the Music topic you all were expecting tonight.
:)
I realise, as I always do AFTER I post something, that I kinda cut the shopping trip part short in order to not sound rambly.
While I like Grampa Simpson, I'd rather not sound like him. Although a mid-blog nap does sound really good right now.......
Anyways, the sports bra I ended up taking home is working fine. If you don't mind the side boob.
And the muffin top titties. Oh and don't forget the back fat....never forget about the back fat.
You see when I picked this torture device off the rack, I only looked at the band width, which is 42. I am a 40-42.
So I thought this would be an easy fit.
But I was wrong. So very wrong.
While it did pass the drunk girl bouncy test in the dressing room, what I didn't tell you is I had to get into it one hooter at a time.
Let me walk you through how that worked.
For those of you with kids, you know how this first step looks.
Put the bra over my head and squeeze the bingo wings through the minuscule arm holes.
Its okay if it looks like Play-Doh coming out of the press, that's what its supposed to look like
Next I stand there looking like I am Houdini in the straight jacket, arms still partially up, and pray I can get this bitch off later without cutting it.
With my tits still hanging down to my belly button, naturally.
Somehow I managed some leverage, enough to reach thru the top of the bra, pulling whatever I could grab through the vacuum packing, getting one fun bag half into the bra. Now I have one full boob hanging out of the bra, and the other is almost all in, except my nipple, with is still due south, but partially covered.
At least at this point I could lower my arms. Yay me.
With one tater tot in, I stuffed the other one up into the sausage casing, happy to no longer look like a sideshow attraction.
I really did look like someone had tied a rope around a tube of biscuit dough. There were parts of me hanging and bulging out everywhere.
Thelma and Louise were not happy about the forcible confinement, and were trying to make a break for it from multiple angles.
Now to the arrangement. I felt like I was working on a Bonsai tree, I did so many tweaks on the Dairy Bombs.
No,to the left, now the right, too much side boob, top spillage....push`em back down.
Too much under boob!! Wait wait, now there are four!! How are there four??
Lets worry about the front, the back can wait a minute.
Nipples! They should be pointing ahead, not east west and south. Ahead, not hiding under the armpits!!
This sports bra, which was obviously meant for a smaller cup sized 42, actually did fit, it just took me 10 mins to squeeze into.
Passed the jiggle test, once adjusted, and kept the Girls flat as pancakes.
Which was the whole point.
I could care less how it looks, as long as I don't get knocked out while running.
I haven`t been knocked out while running (yet) BTW.
So now you know the lengths in which I went to subdue my milk cannons.
I`ll let you know how Hot Yoga went, and the Music topic you all were expecting tonight.
:)
Thursday, 4 July 2013
Trying to beat my sweater meat......
Wow, thank you for all the great euphemisms for boobies, I will try my best to use as many as I possibly can. :)
So for those of you who haven't met me in person, I am...well I am not hurting in the ta-ta department.
A little history on my knockers...
I was, as I have said, not chubby in high school.
I had great little blouse bunnies, solid C cup, and while they were big on my frame, it was absolutely possible to walk into a La Senza and buy off the rack.
My high school BF, who is now the Hubbs, thought they were great. (Sorry Mother in Law....)
I had the best rack of all my friends.
I sort wish i would have taken more picture to preserve the memory of how awesome they looked, but now that I write that it just seems a bit weird.
Then I had my love affair with Butter, a threesome with Ben and Jerry, and the twins grew and grew...much like my ass.
And my gut.
And my bingo wings.
I used to have to wear a bullet proof vest at one of my jobs, and after a whole summer molded to my baps, my boss told me they wouldn't be able to reuse the Kevlar, as it was permanently titty-fied.
(My words, He just said he didn't think anyone would "fit" into my vest lol)
The coup de grace, a baby.
Babies fuck up your body.
I love my baby, he is the light of my life, but he left stuff in one hell of a mess.
My once perfect C cups, already destroyed by chicken wings and beer,are now J cups.
J, as in "Holy shit your Jugs are J-normous"
After breastfeeding,rapid weight gain/loss and that douche bag Gravity, my love pillows look like something out of a Salvador Dali painting, all deflated and downward facing.
Why have I talked about my puppies in a running blog?
Because today I had to buy a new running bra.
My current bra is okay,Hubbs says it makes me look like I have a uniboob, but it works alright.
But if I'm going to be moving faster than a brisk walk, I need support.
Picture me standing in the aisle of Walmart, trying on a sports bra over my shirt, to make sure the band was the right size. Classy.
Right band, but bangers looked too National Geographic-y stuffed in to it.
Then a cute pink number.
I was really concerned I was going to have to walk out of the dressing room with my right coconut hanging out, as I got stuck in the bra.
Not my finest moment.
After a few attempts in the actual dressing room, bouncing up and down like a drunk girl on spring break, I found a decent candidate.
Kept the melons reasonably tame in the dressing room, but we'll see how it works in the field.
Will keep you posted...
So for those of you who haven't met me in person, I am...well I am not hurting in the ta-ta department.
A little history on my knockers...
I was, as I have said, not chubby in high school.
I had great little blouse bunnies, solid C cup, and while they were big on my frame, it was absolutely possible to walk into a La Senza and buy off the rack.
My high school BF, who is now the Hubbs, thought they were great. (Sorry Mother in Law....)
I had the best rack of all my friends.
I sort wish i would have taken more picture to preserve the memory of how awesome they looked, but now that I write that it just seems a bit weird.
Then I had my love affair with Butter, a threesome with Ben and Jerry, and the twins grew and grew...much like my ass.
And my gut.
And my bingo wings.
I used to have to wear a bullet proof vest at one of my jobs, and after a whole summer molded to my baps, my boss told me they wouldn't be able to reuse the Kevlar, as it was permanently titty-fied.
(My words, He just said he didn't think anyone would "fit" into my vest lol)
The coup de grace, a baby.
Babies fuck up your body.
I love my baby, he is the light of my life, but he left stuff in one hell of a mess.
My once perfect C cups, already destroyed by chicken wings and beer,are now J cups.
J, as in "Holy shit your Jugs are J-normous"
After breastfeeding,rapid weight gain/loss and that douche bag Gravity, my love pillows look like something out of a Salvador Dali painting, all deflated and downward facing.
Why have I talked about my puppies in a running blog?
Because today I had to buy a new running bra.
My current bra is okay,Hubbs says it makes me look like I have a uniboob, but it works alright.
But if I'm going to be moving faster than a brisk walk, I need support.
Picture me standing in the aisle of Walmart, trying on a sports bra over my shirt, to make sure the band was the right size. Classy.
Right band, but bangers looked too National Geographic-y stuffed in to it.
Then a cute pink number.
I was really concerned I was going to have to walk out of the dressing room with my right coconut hanging out, as I got stuck in the bra.
Not my finest moment.
After a few attempts in the actual dressing room, bouncing up and down like a drunk girl on spring break, I found a decent candidate.
Kept the melons reasonably tame in the dressing room, but we'll see how it works in the field.
Will keep you posted...
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