Debbie Does Drivel

BOOBARELLA

I mean my boobs are big. Big, as in I must use all capital letters B.I.G.
Their gigantuan statuesquness is much the topic of workaday conversation. People -- men and women -- cannot help but stare unapologetically at their supple engorginess.
It doesn't matter what I wear. Even if it starts out loose in the AM, the fabric stretches taut across my expanding milk filling upper section by noon.
I'm not sure what to do. It's not like I can wear baggy t-shirts to work, like I do at home (Kev just loves my all-cotton XXL post-pregnancy lingerie).
It's just not appropriate career-wise.
I mean, I'm telling you: my cones extend into my line of vision and all I see is my booby boobiness everywhere I go.
They're so BIG that a couple of co-workers pulled me into an office and whisperly suggested that I find a bra with more support, as if they make a 99 Z cup, people.
I don't want BIG boobs, life-sustainers though they may be. I want perky Amber Tamblyn boobies or that kid sis from Buffy the Vampire Slayer's nickels.
BIG boobs are burdensome. (HA! I initially spelled that "burdebsome.)

In fact, my boobs are so BIG, they're writing this post.

CORPORATE CRUSH

So I totally have a crush on this guy from work. (Don't worry militant anti-adulterers, Kevin knows about and fully supports this crush because he thinks it is funny as hell.) Anyway, my crush: Kev thinks the guy looks like a used-car salesman, which in all honesty, he totally, completely does which makes Kev really wonder about "my type." So now he asks me all the time who I think is cute because it wildy varies, veering from the dark to the light, overt to the sublime, and he can't pin down my crush profile. I mean, I totally think Spike is a fox (hel-lo early '80s high school influence and welcome to my blog) but I also majorly love Stone Phillips.

Other crushes have included Ralph Fiennes and James Woods.

I think I've finally extracted the common denominator: none of these guys is commonly good-looking. They all have an edge, a worn look, a something that is off. Except maybe Stone Phillips. He is Superman, oh my gosh. However, I've typically always liked the brooding, the lonely, the underdog, the tired, the skinny, the sad, the problematic.

Why, I don't know. All my boyfriends have been total goombahs, except for Kev. They've all, except for Kev, have had something emotionally wrong with them. Like, serial cheating, or buying all their clothes from Target, or leaving their showers running all day. Full force. They've all, except for Kev, been dorks.
They're not all, except for Kev, looking over my shoulder right now.

Heaven must have sent him from above, to break my goombah cycle. Now if I could just get over the used car salesman...