Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Magical Boobs

I am noticing that people are using their real names in their diaries now. Am I the only one not into this new trend? Am I the only one with a boss and family and friends that know how to use the internet and may not find this diary as flattering as they might like?

I suppose a lot of people don't make fun of or rage about the people around them as much as I do. I would like to claim that I am not so evil in real life, but I try not to LIE in this diary. I really am this bitchy and snarky. I just normally do it under my breath.

I guess people write for different reasons. I am writing here because I was awfully angry for a long time. About little things. About things that shouldn't make me ready to kill some one but were. And I was unloading on poor J a lot more than one man should have to take. So now I bitch here instead. Plus, fucked up things happen to me, and I like to make fun of them. But honestly, you can't say what you really think about people. And you don't want them reading it online either.

I realized yesterday that I left out something weird that happened on our trip to California. My breasts somehow became old man magnets.

In case anyone doesn't understand, it is not like I have these fantastic breasts. I don't. They are normal. They aren't even large. I mean, I don't look like a thirteen year old boy but I do resemble a fifteen year old girl in that department.

Over the years I have grown to appreciate being smaller breasted. You can wear low cut tops without looking like you are trying to seduce your boss. You can skip the bra while running errands. You can play sports without smacking yourself in the face. And I do have large enough breasts that I look female so I had accepted them.

But while we were in California I was Pamela Anderson Lee. To old guys. This old man at Carl's Junior, who had to be seventy, straight up STARED at them. He tried to pretend to be reading my t-shirt MANY times. Now this doesn't really bother me. First of all he wasn't being a jerk about it and he seemed pretty harmless. Second, like I said I am not one of those gals who gets this all the time so I was trying to take it as a compliment.

But it happened all weekend. If there was a guy over fifty in the room he was staring at my boobies. At J's cousin's wedding. At Billy's house (his grandpa!). At the movies. At the hotel.

J noticed too. I tried to get him to tell me if they looked different or if I was just wearing flattering tops or something. He said they looked the same to him.

All I know is that when I got back to Seattle it stopped. So I am thinking that my breasts have magical powers. But those powers only work in California.

Wonder if they work at Disneyland. Maybe I could get in free.

6:39 a.m. :: comment ::
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