Plus-sized models make me laugh

Now I’ve got no beef with fat chicks modeling- hey, there’s money to be made in ugly clothes! But this site just makes me laugh http://plussizemodelsunite.com/.

Now what is the purpose of going to the gym? To lose weight. My best friend just joined a new gym ($40 fee and $20 monthly dues) the same day she dragged me to some designer underwear boutique to buy some special bag and detergent ($20) to wash her special French import bra ($129) for her gigantaur boobs, 36 FF. She was so thrilled to find out that the shop carries her brand and size (price between $88-$165) and has made it her #1 bra stop since she’s had to toss her 40-odd Victoria’s Secret bras out since her boobs got too big on account of her birth control, weight gain, and drinking.

It hurts me just to spend 2 for $35 on Lilyette minimizers in Macy’s, and let me tell you fuckwits something, my 38 DDD (technically I’m a 36 DD in every other brand) is THE AVERAGE which is why I can’t find my size regardless of the color or design! When we left the shop I just asked her point blank, “Why don’t you just get a reduction?” According to her logic, since she’s not in any pain and the bras she’s throwing away fuckloads of cash on will help with support (they’re push-ups the stick-your-micro-dick-between-my-chest-behemoths bra). At the same time she wants to have at least 2 kids in 5 years.

This is just to keep her fiancée happy and she’s an attention whore- like her insane-o mother.

There are things fat women should never wear (like the majority of my best friend’s wardrobe):

1) Kimono-muumuus make you look like a whale.

2) A-line dresses make you look fatter- your lower half especially!

3) Bustier bunched mini dresses in tropical colors are a NO NO!

4) Halter drape camisoles over jeans (whether they cover your hips or not) you can’t get away with them (they highlight how big your ass is).

5) Pencil skirts weren’t made for fatties. If you don’t look like one of the Pink Ladies from Grease 2, you don’t wear them!

I can’t stand idiots who preach the same damn product pushing pseudo-philosophy that’s found on the backs of Snackwell’s boxes: “It’s all in your attitude!” Well my “positive ‘tude” with my fat ass isn’t getting the hot guy, the great job, or the cool friends that everybody on this planet really wants. So we trudge onward to the next crash diet and the treadmill- don’t like what I have to say, then you deny reality. The only reason why the fat chicks are in catalogs is because their faces are rather beautiful, and if they slimmed down to a size 10 they’d be perfect.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m hopeful for a better life when I get down to my ideal weight. In fact, I know I’ll get one. And I honestly don’t know what my friend means by me dumping all over my womanhood by losing weight and getting smaller boobs. I’m still a woman even if my tatas aren’t udders!

P.S. I feel I should tell you why I’m so fucking evil on weight issues (I’m not telling you because I want to be PC or apologetic, but this was my MAJOR wake up call). When I was 17 I was at the library to do some research for some fucked up project for a pretentious bastard for an English teacher (he was a junior high art teacher before he came to our pseudo-school) that I knew I wouldn’t get the proper grade for because I didn’t lick his balls and call them ice cream. A-ny-way! After I was done digging through Ebsco (remember this was before we got online) I took a swing through the fiction section to see if there was anything interesting. I settled on one of my favorites until this day, Junk by Linda Yablonsky, the sordid tale of a New York heroin addict/dealer during the horse heyday of the late ’70s and ’80s. I also did a quick sweep of sci-fi (yes I’m a fucking geek OK!) and then I checked out and proceeded to leave. Well as I was searching for my student Metrocard I heard a voice:

“Excuse me. I just saw you walking around, and I thought you were really cute. I’d like to take you out.”

Well visions of Sergei Grinkov lookalikes flooded my unprepared brain I looked up with an ill-thought out flirtatious comeback on the tip my tongue- luckily I bit it when I saw what was directly in front of me. A four-eyed, balding, 5’5″ mamma’s boy virgin. I wear a lot of rings, my friends call them my knuckle dusters, and with good reason. I glanced at the bored security guard at the revolving door and wondered at my chances of making a quick getaway after I brained this ugly midget and decided to take the legal route.

“Excuse me, are you like 30?”

“Well,” the blush on his bloated face made him look like he had rosacea, “yeah, sort of.”

“I’m 17.”

“You’re legal.”

I spun around and stomped off. I didn’t bother waiting for the goddamn bus, I was ready to explode and might take it out on the first person that brushed up against my coat. I cried all night and the next day I skipped class, Mom didn’t ask and I didn’t tell her until I was around 25 after we threw Dad out. I told some of my older friends (at the time) and they said I should’ve knocked him out- in retrospect I should have taken the opportunity. It wasn’t until then that I realized how ugly I was, and just what kind of man would want me and I had to make a change. It hurts when you get made fun of, regardless of what anybody says. They’re liars when they say you’ll get over it, and that you need to embrace your thunder thighs, huge ass, and big hips. Yeah, tell that to the murderous pain in my knees asshats!

When I was 16 this girl who was the daughter of a nice woman (can you believe that?) Mom knew called me “butt-ugly” from the inside of her gate. I never spoke to the bitch in my life and didn’t even know who the fuck she was until after I told Mom. A year later when I made myself over she stood there slacked-jawed at my nice dyed red hair, better clothes, and face free from glasses I shouted at her to say something to me. And I was ready to swing my fists. She wisely kept her trap shut. The last time I saw her she was outside her mother’s gate with her two brats from her ghetto baby-daddy. She was the epitome of white trash with her now fat ass squeezed into pink running pants, a black tank top that was riding up on her pot belly with a visible thong over her lower back tat (the fuck-me-because-I-need-attention tattoo). I laughed in her face and told her to take a shower (all that gel in her hair made it look filthy). Even though that sideshow of a  family pulled up stakes and left a couple years back I still wince whenever I pass their gate.

Oh yeah, I have since never gone near the sci-fi section again (’cause that’s where the virgin mamma’s boys hang out).

The great funbag debate: breast reduction

So you go to your GP because your back’s been fucking you over for a while now. He/she examines you and they give you the news:

“You need a breast reduction.”

Now there are two ways you can approach this scenario: 1) Ignore the doctor, continue to suffer in silence or ruin everybody’s fucking day with your pissing and moaning, eventually resulting in permanent damage to your spinal cord rendering you a hunchbacked near-invalid with a painkiller addiction… But no worries! The memories of all those men rubbing their faces in your Gargantuan cleavage like the disgusting pug in Turner & Hooch saying Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-itski! warm you at night as your at home nurse tucks you in and puts on your sleep apnea oxygen mask.

…Or swallow your pride, go home, tell your boyfriend/husband/baby daddy what the good doc said and that you will be seeking out a plastic surgeon. If he’s a good guy he’ll take your hand, say he’ll always love you and think you’re beautiful, then bite his lip, go to a dive, tie 10 on and sob to his boys that his favorite chew toys will be retiring. Then he’ll stumble back to his place, pass out and wake up with a fucker of a hangover, but when he next sees you pain-free and face aglow, he’ll know it’ll all be good.

But if he’s a bad guy he’ll take your hand, and say: “Let’s get a second opinion.” Or maybe he’ll pull out the last sex video you uploaded and say how much he’ll miss that. Better yet, he’ll suggest a new diet to take some of the fat off your breasts (as well as your ass for good measure), maybe some exercises or go bra shopping that will have better back support.

Just to let you ladies know: MEN DO NOT HAVE BREASTS! THEY CAN NEVER KNOW WHAT A PAIN IN THE ASS THEY REALLY ARE! AND THEY’RE NOT HELPING YOU, ONLY THEMSELVES!!!

Unless they’re 600 lbs. and that’s whole other rant…

What is I’m trying to say is dickwads and dumb hos, large breasts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. When I said to Kaye that as soon as I fall into some insurance or make some money my 38 DDDs will be a single C and lifted. She threw a fit and said how wrong I was. And this is a woman who was born with lower back scoliosis under her 42 DDDs and her petite mother is in the F-range whose GP has told her she desperately needs a reduction. But getting dick is more important than having a healthy body. That says a lot about their self-esteem.

Kaye’s boyfriend also refuses to use rubbers, and she can’t use hormonal birth control anymore. Know why? The estrogen is enlarging her lymph nodes, so her breasts are getting too big for her bras… and she worships Victoria’s Secret push-ups.

My chest udders grew out of control because of genetics (Dad’s mom was huge) and my relationship with food. I’ve been a vegetarian for two years on a strict low-cal diet, and have lost weight. But I have a bread addiction, and am an emotional eater- when I’m depressed or pissed I eat. So I yo-yo. I’ve been like this all my life, so I suspect that there’s not only a psychological reason for this. I think I have PCOS #mce_temp_url# and I suspect other female members of my mother’s family do too.

Usually women find out that they have this bullfuck when they’re trying to get knocked up. Infertility/difficulty conceiving is a major indicator, but since I’m childfree and NOT trying to get knocked up, I fit into the other categories. Getting tested requires having to find a specialist, and you have a battery of tests to submit to- all of which will suck moolah out of your ass and your insurance may be bitchy and refuse to cover you.

The point is I will be getting my reduction with pride. I’m doing all the research and am happy that I’m not the only chick under 30 who has been fucked in the ass with unbearable, saggy tatas, and want to be free of half of them. I’ll support all you chicks who may or may not be getting much loving from your loved ones about it, because they’re our bodies and we know what’s best for them!

So fuck all you chauvinistic asswipes! Just to let you know I’m a size queen who likes ’em big n’ circumcised! Can’t handle it? Oh well…