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  • Bras, Boobs, and the Truth About Victoria’s Secret

    I remember being a flat chested pre-teen and really wanting big boobs – so much so, that I’d even wish for them on a star. I’m not really sure that’s what Pinocchio had in mind for me, but I’m 100% sure it’s what Walt Disney did.

    I’m not sure why I was so interested in having large fat balls dangle off my chest, but at the time, it seemed very crucial. Maybe it was curiosity? Wanting to know what they would feel like? I also wanted braces for that exact reason. I’d see my friends struggle with metal scraping their inner lips, rubber bands snapping their tongues, retainers that flipped and got coated with food mucus, and I think to myself – I want that. Braces seemed so eventful compared to my boring mouth that was free of torture devises, and I guess tits shared a similar allure.

    I knew when my mom was young she had a big pair of tits, so there was hope for my dream of acquiring bounteous fun bags – a dream so pure it rivaled the vision of MLK. I even saw pictures to prove my mom’s lady sacks were impressive because her current woman balls were less so. When questioning the size change of her breasts, my mom explained to me that I sucked them away while breastfeeding – her words, not mine. Although I felt slightly guilty for vampirically devouring the bosom of my mother, I also secretly hoped they’d transfer to me through eventual osmosis.

    Finally in the 7th grade I decided I needed a bra. This was of course a subjective decision made by yours truly. I think if you’d held up my front body to the scrutiny of objective scientific inquiry – the results may have varied. Yet sadly for me, science had other things to do than quantifying if my tits needed to be holstered, so I had to rely on my own method of bouncing up and down on a trampoline trying to measure for movement – I mean, I guess I could have gotten a grant to be more precise, but you know how they only give grants to boys in science because the patriarchy.

    After I deemed myself worthy of being initiated into the culture of bra-wearing women, I asked my mom if she’d buy me one. We both knew there was only one store she was going to take me to. This was 1993 my friends, there was no real choice; this was the height of the monolith that was Victoria’s secret (PS her secret is that she’s having an affair, that’s why she needs the sexy lingerie). My mother, who was a classy lady, wasn’t going to take me to some department store to get a cotton “training” bra to train my boobs for some esoteric Olympic event of boob bouncing. My mom was going to take me to where she herself found her breast buckets.

    The closest Victoria’s Secret was at the “Cambridge Side Galleria Mall,” which was not a place we’d frequent often because my mom hated malls – she thought going to malls was a republican thing to do, as was giving your kids rides, or playing golf. As a family we were forbidden all activities that looked slightly republican – hence why I walked miles to school by myself starting at age 7, but I digress. When my mom and I entered into the heavenly scented silk haven that was VS, we then perused the various drawers and racks for the perfect bras for my petite tits.

    To my surprise, it turned out that this process was not the joyous feminine bathing in satin I thought it would be. I suddenly lost interest in all the delicate fabric, and was too ashamed to try anything on, or have a sales lady help me. I felt out of place with my GAP jeans, T-shirt, and ponytail. Nothing about my 13-year old self felt womanly or sensual – nor was I even interested in my own sexuality. I was also very intimidated by the many manikins whose plentiful breasts where being decorated by Victoria’s holsters while their blank faces stared into mine, mocking me.

    I asked my mom to hurry up and pick some bras for me because she loves pretty things. My mother of course chose a red-lace padded push-up bra, size 32A.

    My dad’s a lucky guy. My mom knows how to woman.

    I left that store with this fancy bra and two others, humiliated by my own uncomfortability both emotionally and physically – because wouldn’t you know it, a red-lace push-up padded bra is itchy as fuck, as was the black lace one, and the other flowered lace one. All these bras had underwire in them that dug into my ribs and chaffed my skin. They hurt to wear… but they were beautiful and that’s the whole point right? To adorn your sex parts with sexy clothing so they can be sexy for all the sex you’re going to have? The message was clear – decorate your sex because you are a sexy present that a man will soon unwrap.

    Now, I know you’re probably on the edge of your seat right now wondering if I ever achieved my childhood aspiration of growing big tits. I get that you might even lose sleep if you don’t find out the answer to this crucial question and are probably searching for your anti anxiety meds right now because you can’t take the anticipation. Well you can exhale and breathe again because I DID GET THOSE BIG BOOBS AFTER ALL! I got on birth control pills at 15 and then grew a pair of full C-cups, sometimes D’s.

    I know. You feel so much relief now don’t you?

    But… I bet your still beside yourself with curiosity wondering if that young girl with the red-lace padded push-up bra grew up to be a woman that still wears such alluring lingerie and the answer is… hahahh that’s hilarious. My current bra situation is some old nursing bras that are stained with breast milk from 7-years ago, but I still wear them because they’re soft. I also have some floppy sports bras that aren’t too tight because I hate the feeling of fabric constricting my lungs. These bras don’t necessarily support anything, and are more just material I drape on my body with the intention of holding my breasts in place. These are Buddhist bras, and it’s more about visualizing them working than them actually doing anything productive. Oh, we also can’t forget about my favorite bras of the many no-bras that I have.

    Now I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself, “But Toni, what about those ample ta-ta’s you had?? Don’t they need to be held up securely?” Well… despite my fun bags at one point being as large as a Double D when nursing… my daughter sucked them away, and now I’m a B cup just like my mom. I know. Karma.

    What have I learned through this journey of not having boobs, then having boobs, then not having boobs again, to decorating them with painful bondage binds, to freeing them from captivity? What are the lessons I gleaned from caring about them, to then not caring about them?

    Boobs are part of my lady suite and I had wrongly assumed that acquiring them would make me feel more feminine. What actually happened is that they always felt like they were for someone else, rather than for me….

    My boobs were tools to attract others to me, and then me boobs were tools to keep my child alive. In both cases it was more about the “other” than the “self.” It’s not like I ever sat around playing with my tits, molding them like Play Dough into little shapes of animals. They mostly just have sat there, ignored, and collecting dust. Of course tits can be a part of sex – but that’s more about the nipple anyway – the actual size of your breasts has nothing to do with pleasure.

    What I’ve come to think about lingerie is that it’s a costume for women to adorn themselves with to find their identity of “sexy” in sexual situations. It helps both parties get into character. When you think of all the weird, banana pants stuff one does in the bedroom, you kind of have to suspend belief and forget who you actually are for a moment. A rational person would NEVER ask another human to tongue their asshole. That’s just not an activity that makes ANY sense when you think about it in a normal state of mind. So we have ladies ornament themselves with lingerie as part of the process of forgetting all reason and allowing a new version of yourself to come out and not question all their bizarre shit we do to each other’s bodies when possessed by lust.

    Look how much fun they’re having!

  • The Preppy White Hiker

    Walking is like cocaine. Seriously it is. It releases the same endorphins, and stimulates the same of the brain that makes you want to talk.  Walking while talking makes you more open, and facilitates dialogue. If you are ever in an intense argument with someone, go for a walk together and immediately the energy will change.

    When you hike a mountain with someone, not only are you high as fuck from the altitude, but also the walking. Of course on your way up it is hard to communicate because you are trying to breathe while also wondering why you went hiking in the first place, and if you even like hiking at all.  Yet after you bask in the accomplishment of making it to the top, the hike down is prime opportunity for some epic conversations.

    My friend Sasha recently came to visit me, and we went on adventure hiking up a mountain. On our way down, we did what any normal person would do – start talking about sex. For the majority of the hike we were the only ones on the trail, so by this point all our inhibitions melted away as we got intimate – in the discussion… not with each other you pervert.

    We were going on and on about past experiences, fantasies, likes, dislikes – totally oblivious to the world around us.  Now, the way were were traversing down the mountain was in the following positioning. I was in front, while Sasha was behind – revealing herself as I was taking it all in.  Wait… stop begin so gross. I meant she was talking and I was listening.

    Just as Sasha was exposing one of the most personal private parts… of her story you sicko… I saw a man coming towards us.

    He was the quintessential white, New England hiker. I am pretty sure he is the type of dude who chops wood to warm his cabin at night, reads Thoreau with a warm glass of whisky on a whicker chair, and the only time he has ever talked about his feelings is when he said “see you later” to his dad on his death bead. This was not a man who seemed to be in touch with his emotions, nor would he ever share any personal details about his life beyond what brand of wool socks keeps you most warm once wet with morning dew.  He was wearing his hiking boots, shorts, plaid shirt, a back pack with water, and sun hat.  He was that guy.

    We made eye contact through the trees, and I wanted to communicate to Sasha that this man was coming – but I didn’t know how…  I just kept walking forward and letting her talk, sort of thinking everything was going to be okay because she must have seen him too right?  The Preppy Hiker kept walking towards us, and could hear everything that was coming out of Sasha’s hole…. in her face you horny toad!

    Sasha: Every time I have been in a situation where people are having sex right in front of me I get super turned on. I just really get off on watching other people fuck.

    Right as Sasha uttered that last word – she looked up and saw the hiker.

    White New England Hiker: Uhhhhh… Don’t mind me….

    That was pretty much the best moment of all of our lives.

    hiker-story-(i)

  • Twerking Boot Camp

    Miley Cryus is getting a lot of attention for her performance at the VMA’s where she was twerking in her underwear, and mock finger-banging her self with a giant Styrofoam hand.  The prevailing sentiments seem to be that Miley was being slutty, a bad role model for girls, boring, indecent, over-sexualized, immature, whorish, etc… but you know what? Everyone is talking about her and that is probably exactly what she was looking for.

    People may think that Miley Cyrus was exploiting herself, but she was also exploiting culture.  She is pandering to the fact that when girls do scandalous sexual acts people pay attention.  Wayyyyyyyyyy more so than when they do intelligent but understated ones.  Take for example how I will scroll down my Facebook feed and see a picture of a sweet teenage girl with glasses and a shy smile with a caption that reads “young high school student develops alternative fuel using only dust bunnies and scientific genius.”  Maybe 4 people will “like” it and one comment will read “nifty.”  But Miley Cyrus dry humps a grown man on stage while dancing like a stripper and it’s national news. And to be fair, no one is shitting on Robin Thick for being a pervert so the hypocrisy is evident there.

    Even if her actions were disturbing, they are still effective.  She is a sexy girl and wants people to notice her, so she does outrageous and sexy things.  It is a formula that works. Miley is not the first, and she wont be the last to use this strategy.  She wanted to shock the world with her daring activities and she knew that would keep her relevant in the media. Mission accomplished.

    But the truth is being provocative just isn’t that provocative anymore.  We have seen it all. Unless Miley Cyrus ejected a goat fetus out of her puss and then ate it, I am kind of numb to it all.  In a way we probably all are.  And thanks to the porno culture that dominates our western sexual-psychology it is easy to be jaded and unimpressed.

    The question isn’t “why the fuck did Miley do that,” because I blame her publicist and manager more than her.  They are grown ass adults who know better, and Miley (at 20 years old) is still developing her frontal lobe.  Maybe they should encourage her to work on her artistry more than her ass gyrating.  Like improving her singing and dancing capacities.  My question is more “why the fuck society doesn’t have the same fascination with smart women as they do with slutty ones?”  There are plenty of respectable and intelligent role models for girls out there, but they are not the ones being exposed to the mass public.  So what is the solution?

    And here it is.   I am going to start a non-profit called “twerking for smart chicks” where I teach those who are trying to be admired for their brains and accomplishments to learn how to twerk.  Twerking is hard on the thighs, so they will have to do a lot of training.  But through my twerking-boot camp these girls will soon get the recognition they deserve!

    twerking-boot-camp-(i)

    August 27, 2013 • Current Events, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 3563

  • L’eau de Snatch

    Don’t hate me because I am beautiful, but also don’t hate me because I am not beautiful enough.  You should only hate me because earlier I took your toothbrush and itched my bum with it- and I wasn’t wearing underwear.

    Beauty is a huge part of a woman’s existence.  Women feel bad about themselves when society doesn’t deem them beautiful, but they also feel sorry for themselves when they are too beautiful and prejudiced against.  Chicks are so often defined by their appearance that no matter what the circumstance, there is always something to complain about.  Beauty, or lack their of, is ultimately an objectifying force because it will forever be a descriptive to your identity.  “I am the pretty girl” or “I am not the pretty girl.”  But why can’t you just be that girl who has dope personality and a nice warm gooey vagina that men want to bury their penis in?  Is it just men who make us feel like beauty is everything, or do we also do it to ourselves?

    Where the tragedy lies is how women who don’t feel attractive enough also sometimes feel invisible to the world of men.  Dustin Hoffman who was recently interviewed about his role in the movie Tootsie, opens up about how hard it was for him to realize that plight of the woman.  He describes that when he was preparing for the role, he wanted to make sure he passed as an actual woman, so he took his costume to the streets to see how he was received.  And even through he was seen as a woman, he was not revered as beautiful.  In his heart he knew he made an interesting woman, but he also knew so many men wouldn’t get to know him/her because he wasn’t conventionally pretty.  And his own angst bled into the fact that he had to realize how many women he looked over and never approached because of his own biases and superficial impulses.  “There are too many interesting woman that I have not had the chance to know in this life because I have been brainwashed,” Hoffamn said through tears.

    Take another example of tennis player Marion Bartoli winning the Wimbledon Women’s championship and having a BBC on air presenter say “Do you think her dad told her when she was little ‘You are never going to be a looker? You’ll never be a Sharapova, so you have to be scrappy and fight.’” Okay this comment is idiotic for so many reasons.  For one, it is not like Sharapova won matches with her perky tits and flawless facial features.  She didn’t use her pout to ricochet the ball to the other end of the court.  Her ass didn’t serve, or hit volleys.  She played tennis well, just like the other lass Bartoli.  For this guy to imply that looks have anything to do with capabilities as an athlete is ridiculous, and by doing that both these woman are being subjected to the concept that their beauty either makes them better or worse as people.

    The focus on looks doesn’t only reside within the cultural standards, but also within our own heads.  And maybe that is because as women we are socialized to care about our beauty because we think that is what men want from us.  And maybe we are conditioning our men to be attracted to the beauty we find beautiful? Do men really care if a woman is conventionally beautiful from a biological primal perspective, or are they drawn to standard attractiveness because they want to be admired by other woman?  Like I am the man with the hot woman, don’t you other woman want me more as a consequence because I am so desirable?  Do woman define the beauty standards or do men?  Maybe as chicks if we had a more flexible definition so would the men.  Maybe us women are holding on just as tight to these oppressive standards?

    Okay but this is not new to you.  You all already know this bullshit.  Both men and women are totally brainwashed when it comes to beauty and the question isn’t is this happening, but what can we do about it.

    Well I think I have the solution.  According to this documentary called “The Science of Sex Appeal” a woman’s copulins has an extremely powerful effect on men.  If you are not sure what I am talking about, copulins are hormones/chemicals secreted by a woman’s vagina.  In this experiment, scientists created synthetic copulins for men to inhale while looking at pictures of women.  So just to be clear, scientists took the time to develop a scent of cootch, that they then bottled and administered through a gas mask sending the aroma of pussy directly into these guys’ noses.  Yes.  That really happened.

    But the findings were fascinating.  While these men were inhaling the fragrance of a woman’s front bottom, they were unable to distinguish between conventionally attractive women and less attractive women.  Yup.  So while guys are wafting on twat, they think all women are pretty damn sexy.

    So I am developing a fragrance called “L’eau de Snatch” for the ladies.  By smelling like muff you will be sure to attract men because ultimately all they care about is crawling into your love pocket.

    l'eau-de-snatch-blog-(i)

    July 10, 2013 • 3 years old, Current Events, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 3551

  • Naked Girls are Amazing Accessories

    You know how chicks rely on purses, belts and heels to sass up their look and make them more look feminine?  Well guys have their own version of accessorizing to make them look manlier, and it is usually a scantily dressed bird.  Nothing says I am a stud more than a slender dame with her tits hanging out draped on your arm.  But you have to hold her up! She is hungry and her feet hurt from her shoes!

    But this is nothing new.  It is such an old paradigm that I am sure there are cave paintings of Cog and his lady friend Mwanpa in a semi-upright position, with her beard in braids wearing a risqué rock bra trying to look sexy.  Women play into this convention just as much as men want them to because being valued for our beauty gives us a sense of worth.  That is why there are so many willing participants in the media who will gladly display their bodies as decorations when men need them to look virile.

    Lets take for example, music videos.  A babe on set is the ultimate garnish to make you look cool.  Sometimes it is her whole body, and sometimes-just parts of her body like in “Baby’s Got Back” – a video with giant butt sculptures for the guys to sit on.  I don’t really have a problem with this, but you would never see a video with girls squatting over a giant set of balls rapping about wanting testicles to be large and ploppy.  Although I welcome the sentiment of appreciating a full figured woman, there is a double standard that always exists when it comes to the objectification of the female body compared to the man’s.  Maybe that is because a man’s crotch looks like the elephant man’s face… but still.

    But I have come to accept this as relatively commonplace, and usually try and enjoy things for what they are.  The classic scenario of a man singing a long to his song, while birds wiggle around and shake their hips too and fro in somewhat consistency of the beat.  Pretty standard recipe I thought… until I saw THIS VIDEO by with Robin Thick, Pharrell, and TI.

    So you know that saying “half-naked” women, and how it usually refers to skirts who are wearing few clothes?  Yeah, so these Betties are literally half naked.  They are wearing nude thongs, weird nurse-friendly sneakers, and nothing else.  Their bare bosoms are flopping around and jiggling – reverberating with every step they take.

    This is really the weirdest video ever.  At fist I was like “is this an ironic statement??”  Having the men be fully dressed in suits as the women parade around with their areolas exposed to the elements?   But then there was one girl who was dry humping a taxidermy dog, while another cradled a lamb and I thought “no… I think they are serious.”

    At one point “Robin Thick has a big dick” is spelled out in silver balloons prompting me to think, “oh this has to be a fucking joke…” But then the chorus drops in saying “I know you want it” over and over- that coupled with a scene of a girl’s bare ass with a flag sticking out that read STOP made me feel like things were getting kind of rapey.  This was only further inflamed by the lyric “try to domesticate you, but you’re an animal” where a girl is all fours thrusting while another girl has her foot on her ass like she has just conquered her.

    I mean, this is taking the whole hot chick in my video idea to a new level.  I want to think this is a spoof.  Or at least an intentional commentary rather than an actual attempt of making something you want people to take seriously.  But I really can’t tell.  And you know what? The girls bobbing around with no tops on sort of look silly!  Like they would be sexier if there was some mystique to their outfits.

    The nurse shoes are really odd right?

    naked-girl-blog-(i)

     

    May 7, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 3785

  • Women Be Communicating and Shit

    It is a common cliché that women are always wanting to talk about their emotions, but I feel like that is really unfair because that assumption makes me feel condescended towards and that makes me feel angry which makes me feel vulnerable because I am feeling like my feelings are not taken seriously, so then I feel like the whole stereotype is not only exaggerated but I also feel like it is not making me feel good.

    So… this weekend I went to a Kundalini woman’s circle to explore the idea of communication and talk about our feelings about it!

    The yoga teacher starting off by describing how 80% of communication is nonverbal – your body language, tone of voice, and even the way you present yourself all vastly contribute to the way you are perceived.  She went on to explain why it is really important to dress in a way that represents your true essence and soul – with grace and beauty to reflect your true self.  I thought about this point deeply, and then looked down at my shirt that read “don’t be a douche.”  Yup.  Looks like I am on the right path.

    She then starting talking about the importance of diplomacy, how that is a natural skill of women, but we have to be careful not to fall into the propensity of manipulation.  This really made me think.  What exactly is the difference between manipulation and diplomacy?

    On a micro level, they are both using tactics to persuade another to do what you want.  Is it the intention behind the coaxing that makes one more benign than another?  There are so many little ways women are taught to be manipulative, but it is a mostly innocent.  Flirting with a cop to get out of a speeding ticket, or coyly asking for help for someone to carry your suitcases.  Women use their sexuality as a means of manipulation but sometimes that is because it feels like a convenient weapon to use against those who have power over you.

    But on the macro level, comparing diplomacy and manipulation has much greater ramifications.  It isn’t like world leaders are harmlessly batting their eyes in the hopes for peace in Kashmir.  Most political discourse is manipulative rather than diplomatic, yet that has become a societal standard.  It’s hard to commit to the authenticity of diplomacy when the tactic of manipulation is not only effective, but also a cultural norm.  I think men and women often rely on their powers of manipulation because it is the easiest way to get what you want.

    Although women often fall back on the strategy of using sex appeal to manipulate men, in truth, it is only a superficial tactic.  You aren’t really being respected in those moments, but distracting them momentarily by the butt on your back or front.  In order to truly get long-term admiration you have to conduct yourself through the nobility of your soul.

    We then went on to do this meditation where we had to look at the tip of our nose and say a mantra 10,000 bagillion times.  And you know what came up for me? That I hated that stupid mantra, and I hated communicating, and hated a whole bunch of other shit too.  The entire time I was supposed to be one with all things sacred and holy while unlocking the secrets of communicating through my highest-self all I could think was “I fucking hate this shit.”

    So I think I am well on my way, what about you!! Check out my shirt! Don’t be a douche!!!!

    women-be-communicating-blog-(i)