heatherbeck

Stupid Button.

Sometimes you get a blooper. All in the hopes of getting something that isn’t nearly as good, even though it features one important thing that Instagram apparantly isn’t very fond of (even if it’s through a fuckin’ shirt...).

Merp.

Merp-merp.

Through The Years

Sooo... This one might require a little bit of explanation. 

I've mentioned this before, but from time to time, my brain has wandered to... "What in the hell would have happened if I hadn't stopped growing?!" Thank goodness I did — While Natalia and Olga were a little tricky to manage at first, I can confidently say that I've gotten used to them, and aside from no shortage of odd stares and a never-ending battle with the Clothing Gods, I'm happen with 'em. They're a part of me.

Still, the brain does wander. The obvious answer, likely, would have been surgery (as much as many, many of you would probably recoil from the idea, but hey, think of it from my POV – a girl's gotta, ya' know, move. So in the real world? There's no way they would have gotten much bigger, let along magnitudes larger, as the illustration above would suggest. 

As for that image, (re-posting at the bottom of this post, in case you'd like a closer look). It was born during a conversation with an acquaintance who has a bit of expertise in the math and engineering ends of the STEM spectrum. I was telling him about this series of short stories I've been wanting to work on, but I told him that I was having a little trouble with the visual aspects.

Doubling back for a sec. The stories are basically like this: write a short story, and field it out to an illustrator who wants to adapt in into an image. Or, find myself with an image, and write a short story about it. The connecting thread: each pairing of pic and text would be a future, alternate reality version of Yours Truly... a vignette that tells the story of this version of Heather (big, epic thing, or just everyday activities), at some point in the alternate present, or future, same world we all live in; with the  important caveats that a) the boobs never stopped going nuts, and b) I kept them, and adapted my life to them (in whatever way that means). So, yeah. A fantasy element, to be sure, but fun to play with. More fun, still, to install those little story/image matchups into the Fiction section of this Patreon page. That's the idea, and I welcome any contributions or suggestions from you guys!

Anyway, this friend said that he could help with the visual aspects of things, that it would only take a few minutes to put together, and (being a bit of a fan of boobs himself — you know who you are — could draft me something that might help, whether for my own reference, or for the reference of any artists who would like to take a stab at collaborating on this little idea. Cool! Thanks, dude! He asked me a few questions, height, weight, what went down during the few years where I was growing, and then, off to the races. 

That being said, when I got this illustration back, I was kinda shocked. In a cool way, granted — there's some sweet detail here (I wasn't expecting a year-by-year thing, but I'll certainly take it!), and I appreciated the notes. Still, I had some questions for the stuff that wasn't explanatory. 

First... I'm gonna be 52 in 2036? Eep. But that is nobody's fault but the feckless jester that is time. 

Second... For reeeeeal? If I went unabated from, like, 2018-ish, for 18 more years, would I really look like that?! That's closer to Nadya in my "Girl in the High Tower" series than I would think possible. C'mon.

And he, rather matter of factly, was like, "Yeah." At the rate I was going, the sheer timeframe, skin stretching, gravity, relationship to my body... And for the size of 'em, the geometry works out fine. A little licensing taking place, of course. But nothing outside of the realm of the technically possible, at least if you're a fan of a story that at least tries to stick to some semblance of reality (even if, as I'm sure will happen, a Neil DeGrasse Tyson-esque breast fiend comes up with a "well, actually...").

No BE, super round, protrude-y adult-film-star boobs for me, ladies and gentlemen — I would end up with some serious teardrop hangers. 

Which, I mean, isn't a horrible look (says the girl who already has some serious teardrop hangers). I'm not sure I would know how to walk with breasts that size, LOL, but that's what imagination is for.

So! Thanks again, duder, for the valuable tool! (And for remembering that Olga will always beat her sister up a little). 

Aaaand, by the way. I already have met up with a few amazing artists who have told me that this sounds like a complete hoot! So fingers crossed, I'll be posting some of these little "Heather Through the Years" vignettes in the Fiction Tier of this Patreon in the near future. I'm looking forward to seeing the different aesthetics! I'm curious to see how one of my short stories has been adapted, and am looking forward to adapting my writing to an image! I'm looking forward to finally adding a little spice to the Fiction Tier. And I'm sure you are all  excited about this stuff as well...

... in addition to (not too unlike me, because, hey)... boobs. 

Round and Round.

Shot this one and came back to it later, and I... couldn’t figure out the angles. It’s like one of those optical illusions, like an Escher drawing, but, you know, boobs instead of stairs.

Answer key:

Many More Funners.

Hoo-eee. You guys.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. Fortunate, really. I have a day job that allows me to live wherever, and provided that I have a functional computer and some decent Wi-Fi, I can garner some freelance or paychecks every now and then. I know I’ve mentioned this in past posts, but so you don’t have to scroll back, I’m a writer. Content marketing, mainly. That involves some editing work (which always makes me feel bad when I make typos here), and generally helping people construct a narrative through which to sell their products or services.

Lately, it’s actually been pretty fun. One of my clients specializes in branding for minority-owned businesses; another is a cannabis-related upstart that really wants to think out-of-the-box with their marketing strategies; and completely odd, but I’ve actually gotten really, really, really good at writing real estate listings.

Every once in a while, there’s a straggler client. Somebody who hired somebody else, found themselves buried deep in a hole of some really shitty copy, and now, with a deadline looming, needs somebody to fix it. I’ve actually gotten pretty decent at taking poop and turning it into chocolate mousse (but I STILL suck at analogies, because eww).

As the great Liam Neesons says, “I have a very particular set of skills.”

I’m proud of the work that I do. My clients are almost always happy with the results, and it’s good to do something that you’re proud of. I’m certainly not “rolling in it…” At the end of the day, I am just a writer. I get a little bit of a cringe in my shoulders whenever I see an ad for Grammarly at the beginning of a YouTube video. It’s functional, and that’s great: writing can be hard for a lot of people, and everyone deserves the tools necessary to express themselves in the way they want to. But I can see the writing on the wall (so to speak, har har har…). By the time 30 more years goes by, artificial intelligence will have sucked up my job too. But by then, I’ll just be a crazy old cat lady living in a dilapidated cabin out in the woods somewhere, the kind that the kids in town share creepy stories about (total Spielberg trope).

Anyway, a lot of work over the last couple of weeks has fallen into the category of “I’ll fix it, I won’t get paid a lot, but a few bucks is better than no bucks, and even though I live a simple life, I still have a couple of bills to pay…” Crosseyed, but I'll live.

(I have a storage room back in the States. It’s not huge, only a 5 x 5. When I rented it, the neighborhood was pretty nondescript. But goddamnit, the neighborhood has gotten trendy! My storage unit bill has quadrupled in the last couple of years... [this has nothing to do with anything, but it is a little frustrating, especially because there’s really only one cardboard box worth of stuff in that entire room that I actually care about. Oh well.])

Where was I… Oh yes! In doing all of this fix-it work, I encountered a few of my biggest pet peeves when it comes to the odd nuances of the English language. You might already know these little tricks, but they are common ones, and they’re kind of fun to keep in  mind. I’m not sure if you have any interest in hearing them, but I will lay them out anyway. If anything, it would please that one professor from college who really drilled this shit into my mind. Without any further ado, my personal Top 10, in no particular order…

1. Who or Whom? We always get confused by this one, but there’s one trick that works about 99% of the time. Pull out your old sentence diagramming skills, and restructure the sentence until you end up with a pronoun instead of who/whom. If it’s he, she, or they, use who (referring to the subject) If it’s him, her, or them, use whom (referring to the object of a preposition or verb). “Who sold me this primo schwag?” “He sold me this primo schwag.” “Whom should I speak to about purchasing more primo schwag?” “I should speak to him about purchasing more primo schwag.” Works almost every time.

2. Compose versus Comprise. This one always bugs me. Easiest thing in the world, though. “Comprised of” literally does not exist. It’s always wrong. Remove it from your vocabulary. It’s either comprise by itself, in whatever tense the sentence requires, or composed of. “The bag of primo schwag is composed of 28 grams; 28 grams comprise the bag of primo schwag.” I know, there is some disagreement on this one… I’m just a snob for this structure, because it’s never technically wrong.

3. A Myriad Of. Nope! I know, language is always evolving, and it’s organic, and nobody’s gonna send you to jail if you say “a myriad of primo swag.” It’s just that the definition of myriad is “an abundance and/or variety of,” so you’d pretty much be saying “a a bunch of of primo swag.” Sort of like saying “The Los Angeles Angels,” which is a silly name for a team, because you’re just saying “The The Angels Angels.” So, just "Myriad primo schwag."

4. The Oxford Comma. Just do it. Again, if you always use the Oxford comma, you’re never gonna be wrong. “Red, white, and blue,” or “Celery, squash, and schwag?” Never gonna get confusing without that second comma. But “The strippers, Kennedy, and Stalin?” Remove the second comma and see what mental image you’re left with.

5. Forte. Like “strength,” or “buying primo schwag is my forte.” It’s derived from the French, and should be pronounced “fort.” But people always say “fawr-tay,” which is an Italian musical term that means “loud.” Still, I always intentionally mispronounce it, because people always correct me, even though I’m right, dammit.

6. No matter what anybody tells you, it’s perfectly acceptable to end a sentence with a preposition. “Where am I going to buy this primo schwag from?” That’s cool. If they have any complaints, tell them Heather said it was OK.

7. Literally. Did you know, a few years back, we redefined literally, because it was used so often to mean figuratively? Which means that we literally don’t have a word that means literally anymore. I can tell you that “I’m literally going to kill you for a bag of primo schwag,” and you literally have no idea if I’m serious or not. There’s no lesson in that, it just bugs me.

8. Lay vs. Lie. Lay means that you’re putting something (the direct object) down. Lie means you’re assuming a horizontal position. Lain is the past of lie; Laid is the past of lay. English is stupid.

9. Overuse adjectives. Just do it. It makes a dull, underwhelming, drab, boring life way more fun.

10. Tiddies is the correct spelling. Solely because it’s many more funners to say.

Myriad

I’ve been quiet for a few days. Curse broken. Apologies all around.

I know what it was. Stubbornness.

Before I get into it, I decided to post this delightful cartoon here. It’s outrageously fun, and I find it surreal in only the most charming of ways that it was based off of these two pictures from back in the day:

Anyway. I think it’s a hoot (no sarcasm). As I’ve said before, and as I will say again, when a creative mind takes the time to make silly old me into a drawing, I can’t help but feel flattered and elated. So here, for posterity.

But! Back to the story!

There’s this one Butcher. A kind man named Juan. He lives in the next town over. Being a butcher, he runs a butcher shop. As is apropos (adjective, in this case?) of people who are butchers.

Anyway, I like to show the local people some business. And he even drops stuff off on the doorstep like one of those old-school milkmen from 1960s PSAs.

This is a person who has delivered me: whole roosters (already dead, so-far, though maybe one day, I’ll fight to the death for my dinner); rabbits (a bitch to dissect with my lowly-but-lovingly-maintained 7-inch corner-store Chef’s knife [my kingdom for even a baseline 6” Wusthof.]);

...an entire HALF a suckling lamb (the fat you get off that fucker makes the BEST roux);

TWO-POUND sides of pork flank (tacoooos, muthafuckas, because cumin!); and... filet. Delicate, ginger, airy little cuts that you obsessively douse in butter and accompany with a béchamel that’s spent way too much time in the company of Sichuan green peppercorns. They’re not Cambodian, but they are fragrant.

(Aren’t lists that follow a colon, and divided by semicolons, comfy? It like being swaddled in a grammatical terrycloth.)

It wasn’t Juan’s fault. He is pure of heart, and is a fine, fine butcher. It’s my fault. I left the chicken in the fridge for a couple of days too long.

I roasted that summabitch. In hindsight, which is 20/20, the worst year ever, I knew from the first bite. But the meal was already done, and I already had a bottle of wine inside of me.

I felt it the next day. In earnest. You know that feeling. Food poisoning stomach bug, and it takes you a while to get over.

I had a lot of time to stare at the ceiling while I was thinking of where the next bodily expulsion would take place. (I just lost 5% of my subscribers!)

I thought a lot about my old literature professor. A brilliant woman. She forgot more about language than most of us will ever know. If you ever want me to tell you about how to use “whom” or “who” in a sentence, ask me, and I’ll relay the advice. I can also tell you the difference between “comprised” and “composed -of-” because of her!

I thought about her a lot, while counting the tiles in the ceiling, and the word “myriad” came up. Myriad. People always say “a myriad of.“ Not grammatically correct.

She stared me in the face one time, and said,” myriad means ‘a variety or abundance of,’” So if you say “a myriad of something,” what you’re really saying is “a a myriad of of something.”

For the purpose of tits, I suppose that I do not have “a myriad of tits,” in that case. I simply have “myriad boobage.”

Which works. We all have myriad something. Myriad boobs. Myriad social experiences, or lack there of. Myriad fear about the fact that entertainment is going to run out pretty soon. (Thaaaanks, Netflix (et al), for... things to stare at while drooling - 5% more/less!)

...Myriad enthusiasm over how episode six of WandaVision did a good enough job at being bleak, while still diving deep into the uncanny valley.

Is it just me? Did nostalgia catch up with us? Is Malcolm in the Middle just a bit too recent? I THINK there are three more episodes to go, and I am dedicated to the show, in myriad ways. I hope the show didn’t deviate too much from it’s “please stand by” origins. It started out with satire, but is that just making fun of old stuff? Is it right to appropriate previous forms of popular culture for our own poke-fun amusement, even though it’s entirely possible that the denizens of 2065 will look back on our infatuation with Tiger King with a sense of ridicule that makes nostalgia for the Dick Van Dyke show look wholesome?

Is this how Boomers feel? I’ve already felt those first pangs. As Smash Mouth said when I was 15, the years start coming, and they don’t stop coming. And as a meme reminded me recently, “they don’t stop coming, and they don’t stop coming, and they don’t stop coming, and they don’t stop coming...” (it was funny, because they autotuned his voice to repeat the words to go along with the music... I’m sure it’s one of the last memes I will natively “get.”)

I’m not a big MCU fan in the first place, not out of a lack of love, but just because I’ve never kept up, and don’t know where to start… I think there are phases?

But hey. I see the memes, I know what a Thanos and an Ultron are, I know that there are End Games and Infinity Wars, and Ages of Things, and captains who are American, and men who are iron, and that Paul Rudd doesn’t age. And I know the whole vibe is humor through tragedy, in the zeitgeist of black-suit incompitence, and that the unlikely underdog always wins because of his or her quintessential pluck, and all you need is a little tongue-in-cheek, and maybe the colors look a little brighter than they used to be, and maybe movies need to be arranged around mixtapes, and maybe heroes to save us from ourselves, and maybe Quicksilver just needs to smirk because his sister is the gal who just wants to burn it all the fuck down, and maybe THATZ WAT WE NEEDZ RITE NOW!

Shit. Did I go on too long for the tl;dr disclaimer?

Myriad derps.

I don’t have the guts to do it!

Fucking South Park, right?

Harbinger of fart jokes back when I was 13. And over the last 23 seasons (23!!), something that has become one of the most relevant sources of social satire this world has ever seen. 500 years from now, when we talk about the entertainment of the last millennium, it will be Shakespeare, the Beatles, and two guys named Trey and Matt.

I joined Twitter recently. For those of you who aren’t quite in the know, Instagram has been getting way more puritanical. I know “models” like myself, and for offenses that aren’t grievous, or for that matter, don’t violate the TOS, they’ve been pulled off. Deleted. The secretary has disavowed all knowledge of their actions.

About two months ago, I decided it might not be a bad idea to join Twitter. I heard the fields were green there. Fertile. Fecund. Prosperous, in a way where good, upstanding men and women could broadcast whatever they want to broadcast, without fear of persecution, or retribution. Come one, come all, be what you are, and as you are.

And, with great power comes great responsibility. I’m not easily offended, so I really don’t give a shit about the myriad strangeness that’s present. On the contrary – more power to it! But after exploring it for this little bit of time, I find one point of objection... it’s a little aimless. Meh. As the old saying goes, “It’s Twitter.”

Caveat emptor, I’m going to keep my Twitter. After a few years of all of my input being either on here, or on Instagram, it is nice to have an easy-going place to post the old pictures from Instagram (I could be deleted any day!), with some text based updates on what those pictures are all about. Plus, there are some oldies-but-goodies that were posted elsewhere, and if the medium warrants it, why the hell not.

Call it a new form of self-expression, call it long-latent FOMO, or call it self preservation, for that inevitable day when the lone-wolf, party horn “fwhooooo-ooooohh!!!” 100K ceremony turns in to a letter from Marky-Zuck and the Funky Bunch, telling me that I’m not welcome there anymore.

In the meanwhile, I resort to sweet satire.

(If anyone from South Park Studios, Comedy Central, or any of its affiliates, subsidiaries, or partners sees this, or has any objections to my using a sliver of your show for easy-going commentary, I’ll say sorry, I can take it down if you ask, and will be so kind as to remind you that this post, ”due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.“)

Have My Heart, I Don’t Need It...

... is the name of a piece by an outrageously talented Australian artist on Instagram who goes by the handle @franchesxka. A while back, I commissioned her to create a label for my hot sauce, back when I was on that big hot sauce kick. (I still am on a hot sauce kick, and I’m running out, and the folks here in Europe who ship peppers to me aren’t shipping outside of Germany anymore… If anybody has any knowledge of European supply chain management in regard to hot peppers, LMK. 😜)

Here’s that label, by the way, if you don’t wanna dig back...

Cool, right? I had stepped on a scorpion somewhat recently (one of those big, brown suckers, so I was fine), and since she does amazing work in the whole chimeric vibe, I was like, “run with it.”

In any case, she’s delightful, has a particular panache for the Gothic, and just does some fucking spectacular work in general. Plus, she’s just really cool. We hit it off right away, and I was glad that she was able to play a part in my quarantine-era hobby of throwing some well-deserved $ to some talented illustrators.

So imagine my surprise when she threw this little masterpiece my way (up top). Something that she had been tossing around in her head, until it finally exploded on the paper. Damn, she’s good. Check her out. It’s dark, but flirty, and it reminds me of how much I love Halloween. We’ve all got that dark side, Mwahaha.

As she put it, it was the evolution of this earlier piece...

Flabbergasted. Both are cool, but damn, dude. Anyway, just wanted to post both here because sometimes it’s fun to watch the evolution of an idea, and I would hate for it to be relegated only to my wall forever. So, I wanted to share. Hope y’all enjoy.

Nerds!

I know, this has nothing to do with anything. But two things. One, I do want to fulfill my promise of a Thing a Day this month. And I’ve got 19 minutes left before the change of the day Eastern standard time.

Second and this is much more Grand. I recently came into possession of a box of Nerds. Nerds. Like, real, American, two flavors in one box, because I’m old enough to remember what it was like when only one flavor came in one box, fucking nerds. Nerds.

This is probably something that means nothing to you if you’re reading this in the United States. But for me, who lives far away, these aren’t a thing here. So they’re very much a thing.

Before that was a thing they advertised on commercials, where there are two flavors in one box, and now it’s normal? Nerds. Before artificial watermelon, artificial lime, and that artificial blue raspberry, which is a flavor that doesn’t exist in nature, was a thing, Nerds. Nerds.

Take some jack cheese, wrap it in a hotdog, roll it in a pizza, you got cheesy blasters. And then the kids say, “thanks Meatcat,” and then he flies away on his skateboard.

Motherfucking shit, and I know that I’m talking to a lot of people right now who are in their 30s, and older, do you remember what it was like going down to the convenience store, and just literally buying some candy because you had a few bucks in your pocket. And then finding a curb somewhere close by where you and your friends could cross examine the shit that you’ve gotten with their respective few bucks, and you share, and you feel something.

You would feel like you were sneaking something out of the store, even though you just took that shot of high fructose coffee creamer. You bought a drink, so the 15-year-old behind the counter would let it slide. Super squishy. Maximum sugar.

The cooler that had decals that were disguised to make them look like they were extra frosty.

That hotdog when you’re on your way home from the club, and that terrible cheese shit with what could only be roughly described as chili sauce on top. And that always stale steamed bread roll inside that little plastic sack.

Thanks, Apu. 8 minutes left. Apologies for the typos; I’ll repair them tomorrow.

Nerds.

What’s Next?

A few years ago, I heard about the importance of reminding myself that “this isn’t normal.” So I stuck a post-it note to my fridge saying just that. Eventually, the message made it to my screensaver.

A message like that does provide some clarity. It’s a centering force. But there are only so many times a day that you can look at a message like this one, and not feel just a little bit hopeless sometimes. There’s a reminder, and then there’s self-flagilation. So, after a few years of this being a clarion call that verges on personal motto, I decided to change things up a little bit.

2020 was not normal. It was not normal as shit. But new year, and now that we’re solidly into it... What’s next?

Sounds like good sentiment. It’s not brashly optimistic in a live-laugh-love type of way (shudder), but it does have some forward-thinking to it. Plus, it conjures up images of the Bartlett administration. (I’m a CJ Cregg.)

Bee-tee-dubs, aren’t screensavers fun? I guess we don’t really need them anymore. I suppose the need went extinct back when we stopped using cathode ray tubes. I remember flying toasters. (I’m that old.) Those were the shit. Some dudes out in California were definitely smoking weed when they invented those.

Public Transport

There’s something about artists who specialize in erotica. Something sort of honest. My experience isn’t vast, but the folks who tend to reserve themselves, and their natural sexual urges, are the ones who tend to come across as… unpredictable. Inauthentic. Folks who get all of that libido out on the page, however? They generally tend to come across as a lot more chill in real life. At that point, what is there to hide? Reject Puritanism, be yourself, all that good stuff.

That’s just a random philosophy that I’ve had for a long time, and it applies to a lot of folks that I’ve met over the years. I was reminded of it during a brief interaction with an artist on Instagram who goes by the handle @ciderbaby ; he was kind enough to do an original piece of art based off of one of my personal favorite photos. If you’re a fan of his work above, definitely go give him a check out.

Bonus points, especially, to some of the creative liberties he took. The change of setting, reminiscent of a city bus. On which is sitting this woman with Terminator sunglasses and nipples (not to mention hooters!) that are decidedly more epic than my own. But, I dig it! There’s something sensual about it, while still being super fun. 🙂

Sportsbra Quest - Yoga or Bust(y).

Long time readers will now that I’ve been on somewhat of an eternal quest for a decent sports bra.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any grand delusions. I know that I’m not gonna be participating in any triathlons anytime soon. A little while back, I bundled myself up as best I could, and foolishly attempted to go for a jog. I lasted about 20 yards before I realized… This ain’t gonna happen.

Swimming is fun. Great exercise, low impact, and the water makes my boobs all floaty! But the nearest pool is closed during the winter, and I’m a wuss when it comes to cold water, even if there were some thing like a beach or a lake close by.

I used to do yoga back in the day, and I would like to get back into it. Great exercise, low impact, but unless I’m properly battened down, something like a downward dog may threaten to suffocate me.

And so, today, a bit of luck. I had a chance encounter with a woman in the United States on Instagram, who is a self-proclaimed “bra whisperer.” She runs a shop that specializes in larger cup sizes, so I approached her with a couple of questions that she was nice enough to answer. For some of the conversation, she confirmed what I already believed:

The Ewa she is referring to is Ewa Michalak, who I LOVE. Having bras shipped from the United States is not cheap, but fortunately, Ewa is a company based out of Poland, so I’ve been able to have them ship here to Spain direct from their shop. Wonderful. (I’m actually a little surprised that the 100LL is their most popular size. It IS the largest cup size they make without going from scratch, so that makes sense. But that also means that out there, somewhere, there’s a crew of busty sisters!)

The other company I had mentioned it to her is Optifit, which some of you might recall. They do custom work for really reasonable prices, and are based out of the UK. Otherwise, no surprises. If there were another company that made bras my size, I am 99.9% sure I would’ve known about them by now.

Which brings us back around to sports bras. Since I had her on the horn, I thought it couldn’t hurt to check.

And she recommended a company I’d never heard of before.

Nice! Thanks for the tips, purveyor of garments for the well-endowed! This woman has forgotten more about bras than anybody else knows, so if she recommends it, then that sounds like the ticket.

Hey, and they even come in some cute colors! Certainly worth looking into… But first/also…

I’m not a huge believer in coincidences, but sometimes, the stars align. I mention that, because today is the day that I was introduced to some novel product that I randomly stumbled across on Instagram.

It’s called the Boobuddy, and essentially, it’s an elastic band that you can strap over the tops of your tits, to keep the jiggling to an absolute minimum. Almost a bra, but for your bra. It seems like a simple idea, but super clever – those of you who have spent enough time in the company of busty girls will know that sometimes it’s necessary to double, or even triple, the sports bra factor just to keep everything in place. This seems to kind of minimize that need.

Would a combination like this work for me? Or would everything just fly apart, and I would put somebody’s eye out? If there are any structural engineers in the crowd, let me know your thoughts, and if I might be onto something here.

I know it sounds silly, but by God, at the end of the day, all I want to do is a little sloppy yoga without getting slapped by Natalia and Olga. 😂🤷🏻‍♀️🧘🏻‍♀️

Doorway - A Super Quick Story

(Note: I’ve been dusting some of the creative fiction cobwebs out of my head, and one of the best ways to do that, for me, is to do a freeform short story based off... something. My friend commissioned this art piece a few years back from an artist by the name of ChuckManX. I saw it, and I thought it was really sweet, so I took the liberty of putting some words to the page. When inspiration pops up, grab onto it. 🙂)

###

He wasn’t sure if she had heard him turning the corner in the hallway. She seemed a little distracted as she busied herself — he took a moment to appreciate how dexterous she had become with her toes over the last few years. Small moments, like now, as she deftly retrieved the pen that had fallen to the floor, and then one smooth motion, kicked her foot upwards to make contact with an outstretched hand that was waiting behind her back.

But even after all this time, he still couldn’t last very long without being infatuated by the shape she presented from behind. Her slender waist and thick thighs were accentuated by hips that flared ever so slightly, seemingly immune to the three rounds of childbirth she had endured. And of course, The most telltale souvenirs: what those three pregnancies had left behind. Her breasts, long and teardrop shaped, flaring outward from the sides of her body, downward and full, until gently, roundly tapering off at her knees.

He noticed her arching her back, in the same way that a professional swimmer prepares for a particularly challenging high dive. He had watched her do this before. Every few months, against the same door frame. Like a mother takes pride in measuring how much her children have grown (they certainly had other doorways for this purpose). This was a moment very much like that, but personal, and sensual. Momentarily, she would transfer the pen from her hand to her other foot, and with a tactile, intense awareness of the shape of her own incredible body, and not requiring any use of sight, she would install, parallel to the bottom of her distended right breast, one more notch onto the door frame. One, he knew, that would be lower than the tick mark she had created the same way a few months before.

He also knew, as he crept up behind her with his arms outstretched for as stealthy an embrace as he could manage, that she wouldn’t mind if he helped her out a little.

To My Subscribers: Missing Posts?

Wanted to bring something up really quickly. No big deal, no emergency, but a few of you have let me know lately that you’ve had a hard time accessing some of my old posts, and were wondering if they were deleted, or missing, or blocked, or whatever.

The short of it is that they are all still there, and should be as accessible as they always were. The issue, as close as I can find, is with the app.

As wonderful as Patreon is, they’ve been taking a little time to work out some of the bugs on their phone app, which is not only still fairly limited as far as features are concerned, but in some cases, tends to randomly omit certain posts altogether if you do the scroll. They are a really good company, and they are always working to improve, so I have a feeling that this will be ironed out at some point in the future.

All that being said, the website from an actual computer works really well. So if there’s some old post you wanted to see, that would be a great place to track it down. Just wanted to clear up any confusion! 🙂

Pre-Leather

Years ago, back in the old days before Natalia and Olga showed up on the scene, I had this leather jacket. I loved that thing. It was lambskin, super simple, black, fit like a glove, went with everything… Whenever it started getting cold outside, I would always look forward to pulling it out of the closet.

Then, for obvious reasons, it didn’t really fit anymore. Before moving one time, I gave it to a friend of mine. Better that somebody enjoy it than I hold onto it for posterity, or something.

Ever since then, I’ve kind of been on a bit of a lazy search for a replacement that is more complementary to my shape. I haven’t really gone out of my way or anything over the last several years, but every time I happen to find myself in some thrift shop in some city, I do a little poking around to see if there’s anything that works.

I’ve gotten close a couple of times. I was this close to buying a jacket that had no hope of zipping up over my chest, but it was long, and fit everywhere else. Great in the sleeves, perfect around my waist (potbelly and all). I probably would’ve gotten it, but it was one of those things that was just a little too expensive to justify. If I’m gonna spend that type of money, I thought, I might as well go for something perfect.

Long story short, I recently made the acquaintance of a lovely individual who happens to specialize in this sort of thing. Though they live far away, in a distant land, they were willing to help out with a custom job. In hindsight, I guess it seems obvious that things like custom-made leather jackets are a thing, but I just never really put two-and-two together in my head.

So after some conversation, it came down to figuring out my measurements. I did the best I could with a tape measure.

From there, a draft would be made. Leather is some pretty highbrow stuff, and once it’s assembled, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to alter like you would a shirt or a pair of pants. So you don’t really want to just go ahead how to make one, and hope for the best. Especially if you can’t be there in-person for the tailoring. At best, it would be a waste of money and time; at worst, it would disrespect the animal.

The draft, in this case, is a really lightweight cotton canvas, complete with design elements. A couple of small tweaks here and there: shortening in the sleeves, canceling the pockets, several inches longer, and of course, the big one, filling out the upper half of the whole garment to accommodate me without blowing the proportions everywhere else.

When I tried out this draft, I could definitely see where it was going. The design is clean and simple, not very dissimilar from that one that I had years ago. Zipping it was possible, but then I kind of got that pancake effect, and since I have the option to change it anyway? Definitely going to take the opportunity. My boobs cause even the most well constructed of garments to ride up a little bit, so the end result here was more of a zip-up leather bra with sleeves (which can be trendy!). Bringing it down a little more, however, makes it a bit more timeless and intentional.

So those are the basic nuts and bolts! A little more collaboration, a little bit of editing, and… Good God. I might actually end up with a leather jacket that is positively one of a kind. Keep your fingers crossed everybody! At the very least, I have nothing but confidence that it’s going to be pretty amazing (I think a bright red lining even came up!).

And certainly not a garment I’ll be able to easily give away to a similarly shaped friend! Not that I’d want to. 😉

Happy World Ukulele Day!

It’s that time of the year, when a furry rodent emerges from his hidey hole to determine the course of an entire season. It’s a magical time, filled with whatever it is the people in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania do for fun, like wear big hats and... eat pierogies.

But it’s also World Ukulele Day! Which is a day that I only just found out about, and celebrates all things, well, ukulele, I suppose. It is really a fun little instrument, though. I’ve never been musically inclined, much less have I ever had the talent or attention span to actually play an instrument. Until I got this thing a few years back. The learning curve is perfectly appropriate for my squirrel brain, and provided I maintain my pledge to never embarrass myself by pulling it out around a campfire (and now... Wonderwall), I can keep it as my own personal little source of joy. I think we should all have something like that.

Pardon the capo. I would’ve gotten a real one, but the broken pencil and rubber band helps with flexibility, and makes me feel, for some reason, just a wee bit more hipster.

The Coterie

So, this is (most of) the collection. God bless my girls’ girls — believe it or not, I need these things. Physiology be damned, but if I’m maintaining the normal course of the day-to-day, I can’t really go longer than an hour without proper support. With great power; great responsibility. gp;gr.

I have my favorites, of course. Some of them are more for pomp and circumstance. Some of them are for if I’m out on the street, rocking a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and just want to feel like I’m pretty underneath. Some of them are thoroughly appropriate if I’m wearing an evening gown, which is something I am informed is something we used to do. And still others are appropriated to scrubbing pots and pans, and cleaning out the underneath of the refrigerator, which is something I am informed is something we used to do.

It’s one thing to wear bras as a socially mandated, albeit comfortable, accessory; it’s another thing to actually require them to function.

There are gaps in this collection. I’m still mulling over whether or not I should invest in a Ta-ta towel. (Google them, they’re cute, but is it beyond the pale, even though they just came out with their XL? Mysteries.) And, I am eternally on the search for a sports bra that I could double- or triple- up for maximum effect. Long time readers will know that running isn’t really a thing I can do anymore, but yoga is a fun activity, and I have a mat, and everything. I should tell you sometime. Keeping the girls reigned-in might be fun. But that is all tomfoolery for another time.

So anyway, I have an idea. Each of these bras serves a separate function. Each equal, but different. I love each and every one of them. So, over the next several days, I’m going to give each one of them a spotlight. And, I’m thinking of doing it in a similar way that I’ve seen with… Character sheets? I’m not sure of the exact term, so forgive my ignorance. But basically one of those things where you lay out the strengths and weaknesses of each, combined with its name, nickname, where it came from, analytical information combined with experiential information. Qualitative, and quantitative. Skyrim? Dungeons and Dragons? I used to play Magic the Gathering, but that’s as far as my skill set ever got, so I’m not sure what the proper terminology might be.

Let me know if there are any specifics that I am missing. Otherwise,

Make:

Model:

Label size:

Nickname:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Personal commentary(!):

Numerical value, like Conan used to do for video game reviews:

That’s what I’ve got so far.

By the way, “coterie” is just such a funwordto say... “coterie.” Wordporn mee-oww.

Thing A Day (2021)

About a year ago, before The Madness, I did this thing here on the Patreon that was actually a lot of fun. Basically, it was called “Thing A Day,” and the idea was, come hell or high water, I would post at least something every day. Maybe a mirror selfie, or a picture of what I’m cooking, or drinking, or some odd little snippet of life, a throwback pic, a silly nip-slip, a creative project that fascinates me temporarily, whatever. A huge, long-winded essay, or a stupid thing that I saw in the street. Something.

I’m not sure about you, but 2021 has gotten off to a rather interesting start. One of those months that seems to fly by even faster than months otherwise tend to. In that time, I realize that I haven’t posted anything, at all, this January. I feel bad about that, because you are a cool and motley crew of chill people, and in exchange for your much appreciated solicitations, I like to bring a little bit of well-deserved, goofy joy into your lives every once in a while. That’s what keeps this all so much fun.

While the month has been a bit of a hodgepodge, I look back on it and realize that some cool stuff has happened. Stuff that some of you, even if it’s small, might be interested in knowing about. I’ve held back on posting these things, because they didn’t meet a set of standards that were perhaps a little too rigorous: “I’d like to post this, but I want the thing that I post to really say something, to get a point across, to be a little sultry, or achieve a level of epicness that I have in my head.” The problem with holding yourself to such standards is that you don’t end up posting anything, which is worse. Option paralysis? The specter of procrastination? Waiting for Godot? Aim for the moon, and if you miss, at least you’ll be among the stars? Neil DeGrasse Tyson fans will know that that’s simply not true. If you aim for the moon, and you miss, you will float for an eternity in the empty blank void of unfeeling, unforgiving space. Metaphor… I guess that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t at least try?

In the grand spirit in which doing something actually encourages me to do more (I know at least that much about myself, thank God), I am revisiting “Thing a Day.“ Not only did it keep this Patreon presence lively and eclectic, but holding myself accountable on a daily basis provided a sense of accountability that I feel I’ve lost a little bit this past year, where everything has kind of blurred together. New year, new me, all that hocus-pocus.

Last year, I did it for a solid month, every day, which for me and my notoriously terrible attention span, was something of an achievement. I’m aiming for 32 days this time around, which ought to get me at least into early March. And who knows? Maybe it will become a habit, and one of those little snippets that I deem silly at the time will become something, in the long run, that is a bit more tangible than I thought at first, not too dissimilar from a diary entry that you wrote 10 years ago, that seemed kind of inane at the time, but upon rereading you realize was a bit of a touchstone for yourself. This Patreon was always intended to be something of a diary in the first place, so why not return to the roots?

I’m getting started one day early, on what is likely to be very late on January 31. For my first trick? I learned how to blow a really giant bubble. Not every revelation has to be huge. But I thought it was pretty huge. At least as far as bubbles are concerned.

(Editor’s note: Funny. When I started writing this entry, the words came out like molasses in January. By the time I finished, they were flowing smooth, and I found myself having a good time. I’m glad I did. I need to remind myself of that if I don’t feel like snapping a picture and attaching a few words on some non-too-distant, nondescript Tuesday. I hope you’re all well, and that 2021 has gotten off to a good start.)

Auld Lang Syne 2: Electric Boogaloo.

This is true, it’s not even just a thing because ‘tis the season. But New Year’s has always been my favorite holiday.

I’m not a terribly religious person, but I do take a certain amount of solace in the idea of redemption. I think it’s probably the same reason why “A Christmas Carol” is my favorite story: no matter what happened before, it’s never too late to make good, to pick yourself up from your bootstraps, to start again from your beginnings, never breathe a word about your loss, and rebuild. There’s something, then, about the turning of the calendar. It’s an automatic, built-in reboot.

Calendars, granted, are arbitrary things. You know we only had 10 months, way back when? September was called that, because of sept, which meant seven; October, for oct, or eight, and so forth. It wasn’t until we got a couple of really uppity Roman emperors, Julius and Augustus, that we squeezed a couple of months more into the middle. Calendars, then, are malleable, and are just our way of clocking yet one more circumnavigation of our native star.

Still. There is a sentimentality to the new year. In the year 12,021 of the human era, I wonder what we’re going to find? Like everybody else, I am harboring some belief that, magically, the coming of January 1 is going to bring with it to some new revelations. Changes of power, vaccines, getting good and blitzed on a cheap ass bottle of champagne with a lower-case “c”. I’m not naïve. I know this coming year is going to bring along some bullshit with it. For that matter, I’m not going to mention 2020, because seriously, go eat a giant buffet of dicks, 2020.

Which leaves only two options. Optimism, and cynicism. There are some people who say that cynicism doesn’t have any place in this world. I disagree. Cynicism is a defense measure, like an armadillo rolling itself up into a ball. You just need it sometimes. Optimism is the preferable option, but some days, who can afford it?

It’s pessimism I can’t stand. Pessimism is a complete lack of hope, which is despair, which I felt before, and it sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. And this year, we’ve all felt it. Yeah.

Do me one favor. No matter your circumstance, no matter how stressed out you are, no matter what’s going on with life, with family, with finances, with uncertainty about future, or purpose… Somewhere around midnight, give yourself 60 seconds to just breathe. Take the time to think of three things, in this unmitigated shitshow of a year, that were truly good, even if they were small. Corny? Fuck yeah. Does it help a little? Actually... yeah. None of us deserves anything, of course, but you know what? We deserve that small form of reclamation. We all do, Gat-dammit.

I suppose, this is just a long way of saying, from a purely personal point of view, and with the upmost selfishness... thanks. This has been a really whacked out fucking year, y’all. Freaking lonely, amiright? So I really mean it when I say that I appreciate that you’ve spent some of that time with me in these internet nether-regions. It’s been one of the funnest parts. 🙂

What are you all getting into for New Year’s? Here in Spain, there’s a tradition. At the stroke of midnight, you eat one grape with each gong of the church bell. 12 in total, and by the time you make it to No 6., you’re struggling to keep up. Choking hazard? Probably. But I guess that just means it results in even more of a good chuckle, once somebody administers the Heimlich maneuver. (yes, I have often wondered exactly how somebody might do that should I get a large berry lodged in throat... If there was ever an excuse to cop a feel!)

And then, you buy a bottle of bubbly, and drink it. They call it cava here. Fills the same purpose, and only costs about €6 a bottle. Cordon Negro, anyone?

Alas, there is one thing I am missing. I am a Southern girl, after all, and it doesn’t ever quite feel like New Year’s without a controlled explosion. So, if you’ve got some Roman candles, or even a pocket full of M-80s handy, light one for me, will you? As a wise man once said, every time a redneck blows off a finger, an angel gets its wings.

Auld Lang Syne.

Top-Down?

So recently, when the wherewithal recently struck me to do basically a full, two-evening-straight photo shoot (results of that extravaganza are coming, as I become less and less picky about which ones don't make me look old/fat/weird, because believe it or not, I'm actually remarkably un-photogenic, and every picture y'all ever see means that about 50 were discarded, but it's my Patreon by-God, so I'll be as picky as I please, thank you very much. :-P ) (That was a long parenthetical... where was I? Oh yeah.)...

So recently, when the wherewithal recently struck me to do basically a full, two-evening-straight photo shoot, well, it was a process. The first couple of outfits were me just kind of getting into the mood. Some, I thought, were cool, but turned out kinda meh; some, the opposite, pleasant surprises. Throw in some wine, and then it was left to the imagination to figure out how to have at least a bit of fun with just about everything, which I did, even if it involved getting a little silly (which I have a feeling might make for a better image anyway?).

I think the above shot was at the very end of the first night. It was cold, I had a fire going, so I decided that I didn't need to really be fully clothed, per se, a little tipsy, while I played around with one idea that had been nagging at me all night: one of those old-timey, top-down, tasteful, fully covered in a thin cloth, but showing all the curves, semi-boudoir, "French-ish" kinds of things. 

Harder than it looks! I have a timer on the camera, so that's cool, but there's a LOT of styling that goes into making sure the cover is just right, and even then, you're not sure if you have it. Still... with this one, I THINK I got a taste of it. It's hardly perfect, but I gotta say, it makes me curious to see if I can take the idea that's ultimately in my head and capture it onto film/microchip. 

I'm thinking... white top sheet (maybe thinner so it's just the sliiiightest bit see-through?), white bottom sheet, too... legs poking out, arms, and somehow, miraculously, a come-hither look on my face, as opposed to one that's more-or-less... passed out? Bright lights, kinda pinup, but minimalistic and, well, me?

This might be one of those dream pics to get when I wrangle the guts to procure a real photographer, sometime in the post-Covid age. But in the meantime, what do you guys think? I feel like I'm typing all over the place with this, but do you know the kind of pic I'm talking about? If ya do, I'm always open to suggestions. Hit me up in the DM if, like, you happen to have "just the shot" on the forefront of your mind and have a link or something. :-)

But, yeah! In the meantime, the first in what could perhaps be an evolving series. 

It was nice to do a couple of nights of photos for the first time in... a while. I truly haven't touched my makeup in months and months. I'm not the most makeup-y person in the world, but you know. It's just nice to feel pretty sometimes, and to look at yourself in the mirror, and remind yourself that you still clean up pretty well. 

Happy almost New Year, by the way, y'all. :-)

Psychedelic Dressing Room 5: Whatever This Thing Is

I guess it's a smock? Not sure. It's this thin polyester material with this pastoral scene on the bottom. Why was this created? For whom? It's certainly large enough to considered a coverup for My 600-Pound Life: Beach Edition. 

I don't know why, but it feels like I've seen this fabric before. Some tablecloth buried deep in my grandparents' attic? Curtains from a farmhouse kitchen? Whichever the case, it does fall into the category of "This was sold somewhere, once, as clothing, and I'm not exactly sure why."

Though, who am I kidding. When summertime rolls back around? I'm probably gonna be living in this thing. The age of Coronavirus has dulled my otherwise impeccable (haha) sartorial edge, so silly flowy things with fields on them? Just the next stage in my evolution before becoming crazy cat lady.

4/5

Psychedelic Dressing Room 4: Cable Knit FTW

That's the one. That's what I'm talking about. A good, solid cable-knit sweater to replace the one that ended up all but ruined by the end of last winter. 

I'm sure the same fate will befall this one. There are plenty of fire embers to go around, and it's not like the fact that I'm already a bit of a slob when I eat does me any favors when [insert random condiment here] ends up on my built-in shelf. But, the dark color ought to help with that a little. 

It's one of those polyester numbers that you just know wasn't made for longevity, but by goodness, it is soft. 

Plus, it goes down to my waist, which is actually kind of rare for stuff that doesn't fall into "tunic" category. And stretchy! A little peekaboo to what's underneath? Meh, I can live with that.

Especially when it's this bra, which is slowly becoming one of my new favorites.

Up-and-out projection? A little more jiggle than I'm used to, but it beats the hell out of not always smushing my arm into my side-boob when I'm reaching for shit.

All in all, this gal is a big fan! 4.5 stars. (1/2 of a star off because I've been biding my time for one of those retro-tastic Icelandic wool sweaters that are apparently all the rage these days.)

Psychedelic Dressing Room 3: Trucker’s Hitch

I was really curious about this one from the get go. I’m not exactly sure when, or if, it was ever in style? I’m not the most sartorial person in the world, but I’m not really quite sure what function a denim, button down, sleeveless tunic serves. It FEELS like it came from a very early 2000s? But I can’t be quite sure.

It’s got these funky belt loops, so… Wear it with a belt I guess? And, it has pockets, which is kind of cool, but… The pockets are different sizes? And the fringe on the bottom… It’s all just very confusing. I literally cannot think of a time or place where I would ever wear this, unless I was trying to set some sort of long-haul record from Charlotte to Little Rock, Like in that Burt Reynolds movie. (Cannonball Run, I think?)

It’s funny… It would ALMOST be kind of cute, if it had sleeves. Maybe I could match it with some sort of button down? But then, it would just be sleeves, because the color goes all the way up to my neck. It’s all just very, very confusing. Don’t get me wrong, it kind of amuses me, but in the way that a two-headed snake amuses me.

I will give it one kudo. Technically, I can put it on, do the belt thing, and the girls still have enough room up top. That’s kind of rare for most outfits? But at least this one has that going for it.

I’d welcome any suggestions for how this can possibly be made cute. Maybe there are the perfect leggings out there, or something, that would just pull it all together. So I’m going to stay optimistic. In the meantime, I’m gonna go ahead and give it... 2.5 stars out of five. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Psychedelic Dressing Room 2: Monkey Needs a Hug

OK, so I’m digging this one. I didn’t notice until recently, but these things that I’ve always called overalls are called “monkeys” here. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s adorable.

You’re going to see me in these things again, because I feel like I’ve struck gold. They are overalls, but they’re maternity overalls. Disclaimer, I am most certainly not pregnant. But, the denim is stretchy. Especially in the middle, and there’s more than enough room for me to stretch everything out without feeling squished. Combined with this blue shirt (which has a little hole in it, but that’s ok), I think I found my official painting outfit for winter. Plus, bonus points, it has a little pocket in the front which is just the right size for an ice cold can of beer.

Get me a straw, and I’m set! Plus, it’s nice. I get to feel contained, and like everything is held in place, while still being able to pull in two lungs full of air.

And then, it’s also a little flexible. Not to rehash the shirt from yesterday, but if I combine the two...

I’ve kind of got this whole farm girl vibe going on. Which I’m sure might be an acquired taste for some of you lovelies out there. But for me, it straddles that line between functional and fun, which is a pretty difficult line for me to walk sometimes, to be completely honest.

The blue shirt gets four stars out of five, simply because it’s basically big enough, and I don’t mind if I ruin it.

The monkey? That’s a rare five star review from this girl. Elastic-y denim for the win. I’m going to have to stock up on these.

And probably, keep shopping in the maternity section more.

BONUS!

So, I was talking with a friend of mine. We got around to discussing how these are technically maternity overalls. The kind that are designed to keep up with, well, a pregnant body. From there, it didn’t take too much to get a preposterous idea in my head 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣🤦🏻‍♀️ (and a few more 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️s, because I was kinda on the fence about sharing this, or tossing it in the bin).

Et, voila. A couple of wadded-up sweaters later, and getting the girls out of the way (being a little tipsy didn’t hurt...), and...

Please remind me to never get pregnant for real. I’d probably spend most of my time just trying to keep my balance.

Psychedelic Dressing Room 1: Pretty in Pink?

I decided to start out on easy mode. When I was thinking about the order coming in the mail, my mind went to this one a couple of times. One, because it’s a little brighter than I usually go. But I like the pattern. And, just take a look at the tag. It falls solidly into “baggy shirt” territory.

That kind of shirt you just wear around the house most days, especially these days, which are majority spent in the house.

I’m not disappointed! A little bit of gapping in the buttons, but that’s not a big deal. I wish it was a little bit longer… but whatevs. That’s why I generally go tunic length if I have a choice.

But! Long enough so I can have some confidence that even Olga’s nipple will stay covered if I absent-mindedly answer the door sans bra.

If I just need something light and easy to cover up with while I get some work done, it’s perfect. Lightweight, soft, just a little girly in that “yee-haw” kinda way.

4.5/5 stars.

Where the hell did October go.

Granted, where the hell has 2020 gone. For so many reasons, this year can just sit down and consume the most giant buffet of dicks in the entire world. Just a whole buffet of dicks.

I think we are all trying to find new ways to keep busy, and stay sane. I don’t know about you guys, but so far, quarantine has caused me to go from being a lousy baker to a solidly mediocre one. I tried growing some plants from seed, but that experiment failed miserably. (Which is a bummer, because it was white rhino - some really primo kush.) I’ve bingewatched so many episodes of whatever TV show in a day, that I had dreams about it that night. Sleep is weird, speaking of which. I’ve been meditating a lot lately, which has actually been super duper helpful. I won’t recommended it too fervently, lest I sound like some snake-oil selling guru. But if you want to give it a shot some time, there are some perfectly fine YouTube videos.

Anyway, after being relatively quiet over the last month, I wanted to go ahead and close out October by doing something fun. Recently, I found a website called Vinted. Basically, it’s an online thrift store. And since I’m running low on clothes, and it’s not exactly like I live in some shopping Mecca, I thought I would give it a try.

I looked all over the website, and stumbled across some lots of clothing. Just big bunches of clothes at firesale prices. And, this one lot intrigued me.

It was basically, like, 25 articles of clothing. I think the total cost, with shipping, was somewhere around €35. All sorts of sizes, from large to 8XL. Shirts, blouses, scarves, jackets, you name it. There were a few pieces that I knew would work just fine for me, so if I can get even 25% of them to work, that’s still a pretty good deal. And the rest can go into the donate bin.

But before they do… I thought it might be kind of fun to experiment. even if I know, at first glance, that some article of clothing will be impossibly, preposterously small... What the hell. Got a try to stay optimistic somehow. Out of the bag (which was the size of a pony keg), and into the washing machine they went, on hot, because the last thing 2020 needs to give is a case of bedbugs.

So, walk along with me on this journey over the next few days, as we go on Heather’s Psychedelic Virtual Dressing Room Tour.

Girl in the High Tower - Chapter 7

(Editor's Note: About Damned Time, Right? It's been a while. But I have so desperately wanted to get back to this story. I've really developed feelings for these two protagonists — I've even basically written chapters 8-9! But it needed a transition... something to get these two on a level playing field. In my own mind, I've had it as these first 7 chapters being the "introduction/courtship" phase, where the stage is set and intentions are clear. Going forward, we are entering act 2: the "honeymoon" phase. And as most folks can guess, the honeymoon is where a lot of the... fun stuff starts to happen. Tee-hee-hee, to finally putting the "erotic" into erotic fiction. Enjoy this one, folks. :-) -H)

###

“Yeah, they think I’m a little nuts,” Roger mumbled to himself. “But in this town, there’s not really a shortage of odd loaners who talk to themselves. And people don’t usually want to interrupt them anyway.”

Nadya let out a little laugh, her mouth continuing to hang open as she struggled to take in every pixel from the VR headset. They had only been on their “date” for 20 minutes, but already, she had forgotten that her body was inside of the white tube she had been forced to endure as part of her treatment. In her mind, it was miles away, and belonged to another person. As far as her eyes and ears were concerned, she was walking down one of the city’s long avenues, with its glimmering lights, sounds of traffic, and storefronts that overwhelmed her senses.

“What’s that, on the right hand side to you?” she said.

“Oh, this? The place with the blue lights?” Roger responded.

“Yes!” resonated crisply in Roger’s earpiece.

She and Roger had already gotten into a flow. Her curiosity, always piqued under normal circumstances, had been shifted into overdrive. She had already asked Roger to study a dozen things already so that she could have the benefit of seeing it too: a row of bicycles chained up outside of a restaurant; a peek down an intersecting street; the interaction with the Indian clerk at the bodega Roger frequented; some graffiti sprayed on the wall of a narrow alley. Things that were so normal to Roger, but that for Nadya he had come to realize, were positively alien. He relished the opportunity to show her such common mainstays of city life for the first time, and even this early on, barely had any care whatsoever as to whether or not they made it to the places he had planned during this four-hour period they had together. She was positively giddy, so he was just happy that the tight awkwardness he had been feeling in his gut all day had been for naught — so far, things were going well.

“Oh, this? It’s a record ship,” Roger said. “They sell music, some gifts, shirts… things like that.”

“I thought you could just get all your music online. Why is there still a shop that sells old music?”

“People like it! I have a record player in my apartment,” Roger said. “Some people say it sounds better, or that there’s a charm to it… But I think it’s because there’s something tangible about it. Like… using a pencil to write something on paper, instead of using a computer.”

“You are so funny,” she said. “But I know what you are saying. It is something you can hold in your hand. Can we go inside?”

“Sure!” Roger said. He walked inside the mostly empty shop and began to peruse the crates of albums that were arranged in even but weathered rows. “You like… Ella Fitzgerald,” he said, settling in the jazz section.

“This place is so… eccentric,” she said. “Look at that wall… Is that a shelf of… um… pipes for marijuana?”

“Ha, yeah,” Roger mumbled to himself. The bored clerk had already noticed the guy in huge glasses, talking to himself. But Roger didn’t care. “They sell those.”

“But you cannot buy marijuana?”

“You can get it,” Roger said. “I mean, from someone on the street. Or, if you need it for medical purposes, you can get a license.”

“What is it like?” Roger stalled for a moment as he started to retrieve an Ella and Louis album from a box. “Uhh.. Marijuana?”

“Yes. Does it make you crazy? Or sleepy?”

“Umm... It’s like… Do you know how you feel when you drink alcohol?”

“A little,” Nadya said, reflecting on the few occasions when she had had wine.

“It’s like that. But… it’s hard to describe. Your head feels a little light, and you can get a little dizzy, but not in a bad way. Your thoughts can get a little random, but that’s actually part of the fun. It’s very relaxing.”

“I would be so afraid to try drugs,” Nadya said. “I have heard that you can get addicted.”

“That’s true for a lot of them,” Roger said. “But not with weed. It’s very gentle. I smoke it every once in a while.”

“You do?!”

Roger had forgotten, again, about how insulated Nadya was. But he trusted her enough, at this point, to be honest, while putting it into her perspective. “Sure. I enjoy it. I know there’s all this talk about how evil it is, but that’s all media hype. Plenty of states make it legal now, actually.”

“Hmm. But not here. So how do you —” Nadya sharply inhaled through her teeth, causing a hissing noise to come through Roger’s earpiece.

“Woah, are you okay?” Roger asked with a register of concern.

“Nadya composed herself. “Yesss… I am fine. It is… a part of my treatment.”

Roger was careful not to press, knowing how sensitive she was about this monthly ritual. “I’m sorry. It sounds… I hope it’s not… painful?”

“No, it not painful,” Nadya said. “It’s just… very cold metal on top. I never know when it is going to happen, but when it starts, it always will happen a few more times. I’m… sorry.”

“No… no reason to apologize.” Roger’s lingering curiosity about this mysterious, baffling “treatment” flared up, again. And this time, as was usual, it did so with a faint flicker of eroticism — he could only imagine the setup she had vaguely described in their past conversations, and couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the fact that her incredible breasts were currently resting atop a giant table, while the rest of her was isolated in a soundproof, light-proof booth. “I… listen, I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry. It’s just… you don’t have to say sorry.”

A moment of silence. “Thank you, Roger.” It sounded sincere. But before Nadya could continue, an involuntary “Mmmmph!” came from her nose, as if she had just been punched in the gut. “Sorry.”

There was a small quiver in that last word. Roger decided it might be good to head out of the store and continue walking down the street. “Nadya… what’s… on your mind?”

A small sniff confirmed Roger’s thoughts, that Nadya’s emotions had shifted.

“This… this is not a normal date,” she said.

Roger was confused, and a little worried, as he aimed his head toward the ground as he walked. “What do you mean?”

“Can you…” Nadya said. “Can you please stop moving for a moment? Maybe look up at the sky?”

Roger forgot that she could see what he was seeing, and probably added to the agitation she was feeling with his erratic movement. “Oh, yes. Sure.”

Nadya took a moment to collect herself. “I… can we go to a café?”

Still bewildered, Roger said, “Yes. Of course.”

A small bar as only a few doors down; Roger took a seat outside on the terrace. After a brief interaction with the server, and a beer on the way, he thought it proper to ask if she had gathered her thoughts.

“Listen, Nadya… You can tell me anything. I know there are some things you’re sensitive about. I’m having a lovely time. And I hope you are, too. But… do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

In her cramped tube, Nadya took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. She gritted her teeth through another bout of cold metal pressing against the top of her left breast, connected to her, but still, seemingly miles away.

“I’m…” she began shakily, eventually resolving herself, though some sniffles remained. She took some solace in sitting still at the table, watching, from his point of view, people and cars passing by on the street.  “Roger, I’m not a freak. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”

“Nadya, I don’t think…”

She cut him off. “But if I wasn’t a freak, I could go out with you in real life. Or I would go out with you like this, and not scream every five minutes because something cold touches my breast, or my nipple is pulled, or something pushes into my skin, or because of heavy weight on top of me, while I am in this dark place where I am scared to be.”

Roger caught himself before saying anything. This was not like Nadya. By now, she would have changed the subject, or very simply said she did not want to talk about it any more. He gave her the space she needed, and listened. “Go on.”

“Before I came here, at home. The children in my town knew about me. Sometimes, they stood at my window while I was in my bed, and they would stare. They called me a monster, like, a breast monster.” Her voice quivered again. “But I am not a monster. I like to… read, and cook, and paint, and lay in the sun, and… I like to talk to you because you are the only person who does not think that there is something wrong with me that needs to be fixed.”

Roger didn’t want to emptily placate her. He wanted, more than anything, to simply say, “You’re not a monster, don’t be ridiculous.” But this was coming from somewhere deep. He tried to think of what his old therapist would have said in this situation.

“And this treatment… like, tonight. This is supposed to fix you?”

“Yes!” Nadya said, suddenly breathless, releasing some emotion she had been keeping locked away. “But I do not think it is working. I still grow, and grow, and I still have to do this every month. And they say to me, they say, ‘do not worry Nadya, it takes time, it takes time,’ but how much time is it going to take before I can be normal?!”

Her voice was desperate, if a little muted. Though her capsule was soundproof, she restrained herself from the urge to scream. Instead, she blurted an unrestricted train of thought “I used to think… I used to be afraid of what I would do if I became so big that I could not walk anymore. And who would take care of me, and how I would go to the bathroom. And I have Zoya, and I have this place to live, and I don’t worry like that so much now, but it is getting sooo difficult to even walk to the kitchen like I used to, and now I have to use a crane more and more....”

Roger wasn’t sure if she was hyperventilating at this point, or if she was just trying to catch her breath, or if some other element of her treatment had occurred that was causing unpleasant sensations.

“I… thank you for sharing all of this, Nadya,” Roger said. “Like, for real. I appreciate that.” Roger meant it. Their conversations had always been fairly passive over text. Roger could figure out whether it was the trust they had already established, or whether it was because this was one of the first times they had communicated with their voices?

It hit Roger. Aside from Zoya, and given her reclusive, deliberately isolated existence… when was the last time Nadya had talked to anyone? How much of this outburst had been long overdue? To Roger, Nadya had been this exotic impossibility, locked away in the neighboring building; to Nadya herself, she was simply a normal woman living an impossible life.

The words tumbled out of Roger’s mouth. “I don’t think you’re a freak, Nadya. I think you’re wonderful. I think I might love you.”

Roger blinked. The “L” word. On their first “date.” A knot in his gut told him he might have ruined something.

Nadya breathed heavily through her nostrils. The beer on the table that Roger hadn’t even registered receiving, was in her field of view. She felt her fingernails dig slightly into her palms, faintly registering the sounds of the cars and passersby on the street. Roger lightly cleared his throat. She had no way of knowing that he felt as if he had just triggered a landmine, and was waiting for it to explode. And while she was a little startled at first, the surprise washed away quickly, leaving something pure behind.

“I think… I might love you, too.”

They both let out small chuckles, trying to figure out where the next move would be for either of them.

“You’re just… perfect,” Roger finally said. “I think about you all the time. And… I know we haven’t even met, or anything. But… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Another pause. “I wish there was some way I could see your face.”

Roger wanted to oblige. But he didn’t want to mess with his phone and accidentally cut off the connection through the glasses. He spotted a chrome napkin holder on the tabletop. “Well…” He held it up to his face.

“There you are,” she said.

“I wish I could see yours, too,” he smiled at his own reflection, only faintly concerned that somebody at the neighboring table would see him being a literal Narcissus.

Nadya’s heart fluttered. “I guess the tables are all turned over.”

“Hmm?” Roger said.

“You know, it is a saying? You can’t see me, but I can see you, but it was opposite before.”

“Haha, the tables are turned. I get it.”

“I said this!”

“I understand.”

“Roger… You are the only friend I know. You know this already. I need you to tell me that it is okay if I am… not ever normal again.”

“I wouldn’t change anything about you.” He smiled into the napkin holder. He could hear her smile. “I’m gonna put this thing down before they call the police on me.”

“No, don’t arrest you!” she laughed. For Nadya, it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Not even a sharp tug to the skin of her right breast, as if it had been abruptly hefted and repositioned by unseen hands, could spoil the floaty feeling she felt. This time, she felt no guilt or shame about letting out a little grunt. Now she knew that Roger understood, and didn’t think any less of her.

Roger felt incredible. Downing half of his beer, he took a moment to look to the sky, trying to figure out his next move. He couldn’t remember the last time he told a woman he loved her. And he wondered why it was such a dramatic thing in movies. It felt like something he should have said ages ago, a weight off his shoulders as well. They “might love” each other. He, Roger. And Nadya, the astonishing girl in the high tower.

Roger cleared his throat, this time with a little more purpose. It felt right to leave it there — what they had just said felt so fragile, and he didn't want to blunder into knocking anything over. “So. We’ve got… 3 hours left.” He tried to sound casual, but couldn’t contain his own excitement. When he had seen the ad online a few weeks before, with as much as she had talked about her adoration for him, it felt like a no-brainer. “Guess who has an exhibit… at the museum...”

“Noo!” Nadya said.

Roger left some cash on the table, and took back to the street, eager to share Vincent Van Gogh with one of his biggest fans.

Quarantine. Day 3,435.

Have been wearing mask. Most of The Others do. Even in the wide-open fields, along narrow dirt paths, we put them on as a sign of courtesy as we pass. In more crowded settings, social distancing still difficult. Have realized if I wear bra on head, people look at me funny; naturally keep distance. Have accidentally stumbled on new fashion trend. At least nobody tells me that I should smile more. Glasses still fog up. More tests are needed.

Brava

It's... starting to get a little chilly outside. Not gonna lie. I'm a pretty cold-blooded girl, and I definitely prefer winter. But with the changing of the season (not to mention prolonged shipping times these days), I wanted to get a jump on sprucing up my wardrobe. I think this is... the winter where I embrace layers. 

(Oh, first thing's first... I like to give credit where it's due. A friend sent the above images to me a while back, but for the life of me, I do not know the artist... If any of you do, let me know, and I'll certainly give credit. I just thought it was a funny comparison, especially given the topic... I sincerely wonder how the woman on the right feels...)

There's a clothing website I haven't tried yet — they're based out of the UK. They're called "Bravissimo" (cute, huh?), and they cater to woman who are curvier than the norm, especially in the breast department. For a person like me, who gets crosseyed after too much clothes scouring, that seems to be a quality that makes the load a little easier to carry (so to speak!)!

Clothing is always a trial and error thing for me, but I've got good feelings about these folks. They don't specifically cater to the super-busty like yours truly... but they do offer cuts that are just much larger in the chest than you would find at a run-of-the-mill lady clothing emporium. Worth a shot!

Still, I had some questions, and some points I wanted to confirm. So, I reached out to their live chat. A lovely woman got back to me, on a Sunday of all things, and gave me some great pointers and info about the brand. 

I figured this was a conversation that is a little... interesting (or maybe not?) But why not — might as well share it! For what it's worth, she was super-helpful, and really helped point ADD me in the right direction!

She sent a couple of links, too... If any of you get bored, and would like to offer any opinions? I'm ALL ears. Clothing is hard for me, when looking at it takes place in a vacuum. 

###

You are connected to

Bravissimo

Me13 Sep 17:58

Hi! This is the first time I'll be ordering from you, so I had a question... I'm really busty, lol... Without my chest, I would be a size 12 (US) or14 (UK); but I typically wear a 40LL or M bra (UK size).

Me13 Sep 18:00

My question is (and I don't want you to have to be my "personal shopper," haha)... are there any articles of clothing on your site that you've found to be especially good for someone with my proportions? I'm certainly not picky, and I know that certain things like buttondown shirts, things with no stretch, etc., wouldn't be options.

Me13 Sep 18:01

Basically, anything that comes to mind where you're like, "Oh, yeah, THIS style works great for our especially busty clients. :-)

Me13 Sep 18:01

Thanks!

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:07

Hi,I'd love to help today.

Me13 Sep 18:07

Hi! Thanks so much. :)

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:09

I hope you don't mind me explaining our clothing..

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:09

As you probably know, our clothes are designed especially for women with bigger boobs so the sizing is unique too. They come in standard high street dress sizes (US 4-14,) with three different bust sizes, depending how much extra room you need for your boobs – Curvy, Really Curvy and Super Curvy. So, if you find it difficult to get clothes to fit you properly, you should be able to say goodbye to either sizing up to accommodate your boobs but swamping the rest of your figure, or having clothes that fit the rest of your body well but pull or gape at the bust

Me13 Sep 18:09

(I should mention, too, that I have a great seamstress... So if something may involve going up to larger sizes, I can totally have it altered.

Me13 Sep 18:10

That's great information. I can pretty much guarantee that I would go "Super Curvy" on just about anything, lol.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:10

For example: https://www.bravissimo.com/us/products/jessica-full-skirt-dress-pd721/#rust-pd721rst This dress would be a size 14 in the body but a size 16/18 in the chest (14 really/super curvy)

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:11

I agree, I think it will give you more room to accommodate in the chest

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:11

I would stick with items that have jersey material as they come up a bit stretchier

Me13 Sep 18:12

I was looking at that dress — it's adorable and really timeless.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:13

If you order from our US website www.bravissimo.com/us then the clothing conversion is already there for you

Me13 Sep 18:13

Perfect... a little bit of stretch. :) I'll keep that in mind as I search around.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:13

A US 14 the curvy/really will be a 14-16 and the really/super will be 16-18

Me13 Sep 18:14

Cool... I'm located in Spain at the moment, actually... is there any issue with mailing there (aside from any normal delays?) Also, do you know if it's ok if something is delivered to a post office box as opposed to an actual street address?

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:14

It's a stunning dress! My go to! But there's loads of different clothes that would suit your sizing

Me13 Sep 18:15

That's great... And elastine is my best friend! :-P

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:15

Ahh perfect, Spain is beautiful! Post to Spain costs £6 and is taking 14-20 working days. Usually a bit quicker but with everything going on, I'd give it the time just in case and yes, you can get it sent to a PO box, no problem

Me13 Sep 18:16

Oh, great. Yeah, no rush — the world's kind of a crazy place right now, lol...

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:17

It's it just. Such strange times

Me13 Sep 18:18

Oh, and one more question that you might be able to help with... Anything more cold-weather appropriate that you might be able to recommend? Along the lines of a winter coat?

Me13 Sep 18:18

I guess something that would accommodate 140cm in the bust (I don't mind looking like a marshmallow, lol!) Just more for function.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:19

Of course, here's a link to Winter coats/jackets etc  https://www.bravissimo.com/collections/coats-and-jackets/

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:19

Not that these have a whole lot of stretch but a nice dress with a denim jacket over the top too

Me13 Sep 18:19

Ha, a denim jacket has long been on my bucket list, lol... Might have to keep that one for the tailoring gods, lol. :-P

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:19

Or a lot of our clothes can be layered for when the cold weather reaches us

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:20

Like, a long sleeve top under a pinafore dress. Both have some great stretch and versatility.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:20

https://www.bravissimo.com/products/faux-suede-pinafore-dress-pd830/#tan-pd830tan

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:20

https://www.bravissimo.com/products/ava-top-pt655/#ivory-pt655ivy

Me13 Sep 18:21

Oh, yeah, I was looking at the pinafore dress — SO cute — that whole look with the brown and the ivory is very "me." And I'm always down with layering.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:21

That style of dress is  popular with clients who need a little more space in the chest. Layering keeps it conservative but the dress itself is a little flirty. And adaptable as the seasons change.

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:22

Here's a link to all of the pinafore styles. https://www.bravissimo.com/search/pinafore%20dress

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:22

I think you'll find that the brown one is the most forgiving (I love elastine too!)

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:23

See those long-sleeve tops, too. Lots of different colors and patterns.

Me13 Sep 18:23

I'm loving all of this advice and information — you've given me so much good stuff to think about! :-D

Me13 Sep 18:23

Well, thank you so much. I don't want to take up too much of you time, but thank you for clarifying some of this stuff for me. Lots of cute stuff up there! I love how timeless and practical it all is. Thank you guys for specializing in the bustier among us! :)

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:23

That's so great to hear! That's exactly what we want in our pieces, timeless! You'll find some great items  :)

Me13 Sep 18:23

I'm looking forward to it. :-)

Me13 Sep 18:24

Thanks again. Stay warm, and take care!

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:24

My pleasure! Enjoy the rest of what's left of the weekend  :)

Me13 Sep 18:25

You too! Thanks for helping out on a Sunday, too. :)

Bravissimo13 Sep 18:25

Aww anytime!

###

So that's been part of my lazy Sunday. At least I got to be productive while taking some time to give my brain a little bit of a rest. :-)

Just real quick.

This is one of those nights when I just have not been able to fall asleep.

I try to get productive. And in the same way that you would try to clean off your desktop on your computer, I was doing the same thing with my phone. I’ve been getting that notification that says “ I can’t save any more images!” So I went through, and tried to clear some stuff off.

I literally cannot remember why I took these pictures. There were a few of them. All almost identical. Selfies, only as far away as I can actually hold my hand.

Chalk this image up to “the preserve it, because why not“ file, otherwise it would’ve just gone in the digital trashcan forever.

But there was something about it that I wanted to keep. There’s a lot of blank space in there. But it does speak a bit to a general idea of hugeness.

Dream Home

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine recently, and they asked me to take a look at their layout for their dream home.

Isn’t that cool? I think that’s a nice way to focus your attention during times like these. Something aspirational.

I do a lot of writing for real estate. I can take a look at some pictures of a house and the floor plan, and I can write 1,000 words that strike to the core of somebody’s emotions and aspirations. It’s an odd thing to be “good at,” but like they say, practice makes perfect.

So, I realize that, from time to time, my mind has drifted in a similar direction. If I was building a house from the ground up, and I could have control over every detail of its design, what would it look like? A rough idea has been floating around in my head for a while, but I’ve never actually laid pen to paper to try and sketch mine out. (In case you couldn’t tell by now, it’s a good thing I’m not an architect. With sketches like mine, I’m sure buildings would just fall down!)

The above picture is a rough idea. The overall structure is one story, and is oriented in a sort of “V” shape. If you were to draw a line right down the center, each half would be a mirror image of the other. I like symmetry. (My boobs do not. Eh.)

When you walk in, there’s a circular dining table. I don’t like rectangular tables. I don’t like the idea of somebody sitting at the head, and somebody sitting at the foot. A round table is more egalitarian. Everybody’s on the same page, and their conversation is equally valid.

The kitchen is minimalistic. The refrigerator would be located underneath the counter. Sink, dishwasher, lots of counterspace. An island houses the stove and the oven, and a couple of little sitting spots. I like the idea of cooking and looking out onto the rest of the home, instead of just facing a wall.

The living room area is sunken by a couple of steps. I’ve always thought that was a cool mid-century aesthetic, and I wonder why we got rid of it. In front of the living room, a giant bank of windows that overlooks the central courtyard. I love sunsets, so it would be ideal if this room had a western exposure.

From the core area, there are two hallways, each floor to ceiling with windows, and some sliding doors so you can get outside. Identical bedrooms at the end of each hallway, each with a small closet. Big windows there too. Adjacent, two identical baths. In what would I suppose would be the south wing, I media room to feed my love of movies and to have a dedicated place for screen-based distractions. Opposite, an office, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on both sides. Also, a little sitting nook. Those right triangles next to the core serve as storage space, and also, as a half bath for guests.

I think it would be fun to live in a part of the world that’s generally cooler. Someplace with a lot of green. Temperate rainforest. Good beer. I’ve been to Washington state once, and I really fell in love with the vibe there. Something like that. Bonus points if I get to overlook a body of water.

So, that’s it in a nutshell! I feel like I’m missing something… Part of the fun that I had with my friend was geeking out over their design and throwing some spaghetti noodles at the wall.

I think you can tell a lot about a person by the type of dream home that they would create for themselves. What are their plans, what are their dreams, what are their passions... You can figure out a person’s personality with a fun little test like this. It’s almost like looking into their soul.

I’m totally curious… What do you guys think this says about me? Also, I feel like I’m missing something… If it pops out at you, let me know.

And, I’d love to hear what you guys have in mind about your own dream homes. If you’ve never really considered it before, it is a fun little exercise. For me, it was a way to unstick my head from the present for a moment, and focus on something idealistic, somewhere off in the future, when I’m some ridiculous old post-apocalyptic lady with six dogs and tits that hang down to her knees.