Dat Fine Ass

So this happened.

Me: Alex, I may have to leave you.

Alex: Alright, I’ll bite.  What happened?

Me: All these sweet talkers are just sweeping me off my feet.

Alex: Oh?  What are they saying?

Me: Twice today, I had someone say to me, “Damn girl, dat ass is fine.”

Alex: Oh man.

Me: I know, right?  How do I resist the charms of “Dat ass is fine?”  Also, “Damn girl, gimmie yo’ number.”

Alex: I totally understand if you leave.  I can’t compete with that.

Me:  They must have been pretty confident too, considering nobody would even stand up when they hit on me.

Alex:  Damn, I have no idea how I can ever compete with that.

Me: I know.  I’m sorry, but those sweet talkers are just too irresistible.

Alex: Did they even mention dem tits?

Me: Nope, just dat ass.

Alex: What did they do when you said you were married?

Me: Well, one guy just got up and left.  No sorry, no apology, nothing.  Second I said married, he walked out.  The other guy said, “Well damn girl, if that ever changes you look me up.”

Alex:  Well at least they gave up once you pulled the marriage card.

Me: Yeah, because apparently touching a married woman is worse than telling them about dat fine ass.

Alex: Obviously.

Why He’s The Bra Guru: A Marital Dispute

In honor of save the tatas month, I have decided to write a post about my boobs.  And about how Alex and I have the same fight all the time.  Here’s a snippet of this particular fight.

Me: Hey, Alex?  For the love of God, stop grabbing my boobs.

Alex: But that’s what they’re there for.  That’s my God given right for being your husband.  I get to grab boobs all the time.

Me: But you’re breaking the wires in my bras trying to go under the bra.  And you’re stretching out the cups so they don’t keep their shape.

Alex: Then stop wearing bras. Problem solved. Now let’s move on to something more difficult like the Ebola crisis.

Me: NO!  If I stop wearing bras, then my boobs will get saggy.

Alex: I’ll just hold up your boobs. Check mate.

Except it's my boobs.

Except it’s my boobs.

Me: You can’t just walk around behind me holding my boobs up all day.

Alex: I’ll do it for you, as a sign of my undying love. Challenge accepted!

Me: THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE!

LIKE A BOSS

LIKE A BOSS

Alex:  I’m not the sole reason they break. After all, your bras wouldn’t break all the time if you didn’t wear them.

Me: My bras wouldn’t break if you would stop grabbing my boobs all the time.

Alex: I don’t get why you wear bras all the time anyway.  They always break after five months or so.

Me: They would last a year if you stopped grabbing my boobs!

Alex: Well, you’ve established that I’m your “bra guru”, I’ll help you find new ones when the time comes.

Me: The time comes way sooner than it should since you keep breaking them!

Alex: But I am driven by a desire to grab boobs, and I have sworn to only grab yours as a sign of love and respect.

Me: I appreciate the dedication, but you need to stop grabbing my boobs all the time.

Alex: BUT I HAVE TO GRAB BOOBS!

So we came to a compromise.  I smack his hand until he stops.  And he doesn’t stop and barks at me when his hand gets raw from me smacking his hand all the time. Which then I tell him…

“Alex?  For the love of God, stop grabbing my boobs.”

Thus the cycle begins again.

Does your spouse have overy grabby hands?  Does your boyfriend or husband grab your boobs all the time and no matter what you say or do, your boobs seem like magical magnets that nobody can resist? Let me know in the comments!

Strings In My Boobs: Tales of A Crazy Biatch

My friends in Alaska know who I’m talking about just by the title alone.  And I’m sure that they’re sitting at the edge of their seat, just dying to see how I tell the story of the crazy girl who I’m going to be calling Marjorie throughout this post.  Because it would be my luck that this crazy girl will go nuts when she sees that I’m writing a post about her.

I can only say this in one way.

Marjorie was crazy.

She seemed normal enough when she started working with us as a cashier.  I was a cook and I helped train her.  She had just gotten married to an Airman, this was her fourth marriage, third person she had been married to.  She was from a southern state that can grow peaches, and… Yeah, she was a character.  She had some wild stories, many of which happened her first month in Alaska, each story more crazy than the one before it.

Example #1: Boob strings

Have you ever heard of breast implants that are strings, and every six months you go to the doctor and they pull the strings, making your boobs perky like a 16 year olds?

No, I hadn’t heard of them either… Until I met Marjorie.

Marjorie suffered from the same thing that most women in their late twenties suffer from— saggy tits from not wearing the right kind of bras in their teen years.  It’s a thing, and hell, my boobs came in saggy, she just had slightly saggy boobs.

But the day after she told us about her boob strings, her tits were fabulous.  They were perkier than a 16 year olds tits.  They were in her face, and bouncy, and beautiful.

Tits like this, but with no bra, because boob strings are magical

Tits like this, but with no bra, because boob strings are magical

Almost as if she were wearing a Wonderbra.  We asked her this, and she said she wasn’t even wearing a bra, as she pushed her strap to the side to show us the lack of bra.  She told us that her first husband was afraid of her having saggy boobs, so he paid for her to have boob strings put in so every six months she can have the doctor pull the strings so her tits will be magically perky.

Because doesn’t everyone want the tits of a 16 year old?

Don’t worry, it gets even weirder.

Example #2: The Laundromat

A couple weeks after she started working with us, her eye was covered in black make up.  Well, she said it wasn’t make up, but it was too perfect of a black eye.

Trying to be concerned, my overly sarcastic, yet fabulously awesome newfie coworker feigned some fake concern and asked her, “Oh Marjorie, what happened to your eye?”

Just imagine more glitter and a little more circular

Just imagine more glitter and a little more circular

Marjorie then told us the heroic tale of how she went to the Laundromat and this guy, out of the blue, came up to her and punched her in the face, then ran off.  She called the police and everything but he was never caught because the cameras weren’t working during the two minutes of this guy punching her in the face, her crying out, and him running away.

Also, the Laundromat had  nobody there that afternoon.  Hmm…

Example #3: The imaginary child.

Now, how can someone pretend to have a child, and a four year old child to boot?  This just doesn’t happen. Right?

Wrong!  Marjorie definitely had a fake child.

She told us that she had a four year old child from her second of four marriages.  Now, there were a few (several) holes in her story about her child.

  1. She never told us her sons name.
  2. His age changed from four years old to five years old, then back to four.
  3. He was living with her only six months out of the year, then six months with his father
  4. Her apartment was far too nice for someone with children.

Now, before anyone gets mad at me for the last portion, allow me to explain.

When someone has kids in their house, you just know.  There are always a few telltale signs of children in a house.  For instance… pictures of said child.  Every house I’ve been to that has children, except for the Amish households I’ve been to, have pictures of their children on the walls.  Or on the fridge, or generally everywhere.  Also, nearly every parent has a picture of their child in their wallet because they’re proud of the piece of flesh they flung out of their fun parts.

Marjorie had no pictures of her child because “Oh, I just haven’t unpacked them,” when she told us moments before she was so happy to have finished ALL of her packing.

Also, four year olds love to draw pictures.  I’m pretty sure that every parent of a four year old has a picture on their fridge.  Marjorie didn’t though.

And a person who has a four year old does not usually have a perfectly clean house.  And considering how well she cleaned at work, there was no way that her house was as clean it was with a child present.

In addition to that… she didn’t have child proof furniture.  She had perfectly brand new leather furniture, which she said her four year old and her had been renting for a month, her TV stand was marble with sharp corners, no fingerprints.

THIS IS NOT A HOME WITH A CHILD IN IT!

THIS IS NOT A HOME WITH A CHILD IN IT!

Her house looked like a model show room and the furniture looked like nobody even sat in it.  If there had been a four year old, she wouldn’t have furniture that had sharp corners that would be eye level with the kiddie, the furniture would have scratches or had some sort of stains.  There were just so many things that seemed amiss in the entire situation.

There was just no way her son existed, there was no viable proof.  But I always had to give her credit, she stuck to those stories like they were life sustaining.

There are far more, crazier stories that I will divulge you in at a later date, but for now, you’ll just have to settle for boob strings and black eyes.

Ever met anyone with some crazy stories that you just knew were fake, but you listened anyway because the entertainment factor was just through the roof?  Tell me in the comments!