Sunday, October 31, 2010

For those of you wondering what costume Edd decided on for Halloween... 








Edd's ensemble was so impressive he won the award for best costume that his job gives each year. His prize even included an iPod Touch! Not bad for a costume that I thought made him look more like the Eddie Murphy in Coming to America (Sexual Chocolate!!) than Michael Jackson. 
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Friday, October 29, 2010

As promised, I'm back with more last-minute costume ideas. Many of you have already seen what is quite possibly my best costume ever -- Power Puff Girls. 




(BTW: I'm the black one.) To become Bubbles I just needed a blue tall tee, a blonde wig white tights and black Mary Janes. I cut off the sleeves of the shirt and bought some black fabric to wrap around my waist. We made the eyes out of construction paper and taped them to sunglasses. We were awesome. 


As I mentioned yesterday, this has been Fall Week at my school. After Antoine Dodson was such a hit for celebrity day I had to keep it coming. Wednesday was Star Wars versus Star Trek Day so I decided to channel my inner Princess Leia.



Folks thought I actually had an official Princess Leia costume at home. Wrong! But I did have this dress from my days as a liturgical dancer and enough hair to make little buns. Add a toy gun and voila! 


Yesterday was Switch Day, which can be interpreted in a number of ways but usually results in a lot of cross dressing. 





That's me trying to look hard and failing miserably. My students loved it though. One boy told me I looked like Damon Dash and kept walking by my classroom throwing up the Roc-a-Fella hand sign. 


Today is the day students and teachers are to wear their Halloween costumes. After showing school spirit all week I am, of course, dressing up, but as you've probably figured out, I'm not one to buy ready-made costumes. So today I put on a yellow dress, yellow shoes, and white tights and grabbed an umbrella and transformed into the Morton's Salt Girl. 






What kind of costume did you pull together for Halloween?
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Thursday, October 28, 2010

This week is Fall Week at my school. It's the week leading up to our Halloween carnival and since we don't have a football team (or any other sports) it's the highlight of the season. It's kind of like Homecoming Week for geeks. Each day has a different theme and to show your school spirit students and even teachers should dress accordingly. 


Monday was pajama day and wearing my PJs to work was awesome. Tuesday, however, was celebrity day and I had no idea who I was going to be. Then while browsing Jezebel, one of my favorite blogs, I saw this:




Antoine Dogson! And with that I realized how easy it would be to transform myself into this year's greatest Internet sensation -- Antoine Dodson. All I would need is a red head scarf and a black tank top. 

Edd, who has expressed his disdain for Dodson several times, was obviously not happy about this. "You are no wife of mine," he exclaimed to me, being extra dramatic. But I couldn't resist. Tuesday I showed up with my red scarf and I pinned a sign to my black tank that read: "You can run and tell that homeboy!"

My costume was a huge hit with the students. Word spread like a viral video and there were kids dropping by my class all day to see my getup. Check it out:




Edd was not amused. I said to him, "But it was too easy." His reply: "Cooning always is." 


Sorry, America, for letting you down. What can I say? It was for the kids!




Check back tomorrow for more simple (and less embarrassing) costume ideas.
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Wednesday, October 27, 2010

It was my hope that I could chill on the constant Kanye West postings.


I ignored the so-called scandal over his so-called banned album cover (which really wasn't banned at all), replacing his bottom teeth with diamonds like some kind of ghetto Trap-Jaw, and worst of all, rumors that he hooked up with Kim Kardashian!


That's just unforgivable. Kanye, Ray J - you'd think a woman that fine would have better taste in men.


Kanye is a one-man PR machine. But I had to do a post on Ye's latest "masterpiece" - his video for the single "Runaway."









Clocking in at nearly 35 freaking minutes, "Runaway" aims to be this generation's "Thriller."


Or Captain Eo.


The film is pretty ambitious, I'll give it that. Written by Hype Williams, who gave us such cinematic masterpieces as "Belly" and, uh, "Belly," and directed by Ye himself, the film explores Kanye's encounter with a bizarre looking bird lady.









She didn't look quite that bizarre.


The bird lady struggles to adjust to human life (foolishly turning down a turkey dinner!) while Ye ponders the plight of mankind. It ain't Shakespeare - although it tries really, really hard to be. It's hard to take the video seriously when it features the worst acting I've seen since Under The Cherry Moon (sorry, Javacia). Kanye can't even run down the street convincingly. And with such a looooooong running time, things really start to drag about 20 minutes in. I never remember looking down at the YouTube timeline, saying "ugh, 10 more minutes..."while watching "Thriller."


Yeah, yeah, I know there was no YouTube back then. But you get my point.


Don't completely write off "Runaway" though - visually, it's pretty stunning. The vivid imagery is by far its saving grace. Also, the video serves as an sampler of Kanye's new album. Nearly every track is played in some form. If you ignore Nicki Minaj talking like Mary Poppins and Rihanna howling at the moon, it sounds like Kanye is crafting quite an album. It has me eager to check it out next month. And really, that's the whole point of the video.


While it's nowhere near as brilliant as some people would lead you to believe, "Runaway" is worth a look. If nothing else, give him props for creativity. I'd rather see him flirt with bird lady than jump around a dark club throwing money in the air.




What do you think of "Runaway?"
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Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Last week I had to go to a local hospital for a procedure called a nerve conduction study. My left leg has been doing some screwy things lately and one of my doctors wanted me to have the test to make sure my lupus wasn't causing any neuropathy, or nerve damage. When my doctor first told me he wanted me to take the test he also said, "I should warn you will experience some discomfort during this test. It involves sending electric shocks through your leg to test your nerves and then they'll use several needles to test your muscles." At this point I must have a look on my face that suggests I've walked through hell's front door because the doc starts back pedaling saying things like, "Well, I'm probably make it sound worse than it is. You'll be fine." But the damage is done. I'm terrified. 


The test is scheduled for Oct. 21. That doctor's appointment was at the end of September. This means I must spend an entire month dreading the procedure. I wrote it on my calendar in bright blue, hoping that cheerful color would calm me. It doesn't. The words "Nerve Condition Study" stared back at me sending fear through my body each time I glanced at them. 


For about a week or two I contemplate cancelling the appointment, but the hubster won't hear of it. So I decide I need to just relax and not think about it until Oct. 21 rolls around. Then one Sunday God plays a joke on me. I'm at church and the associate minister delivering the message for the day starts talking about the time he woke up and couldn't move his hands. The numbness spread and he was taken to the hospital. He turned out to be okay. He'd had a bad reaction to some shots he'd taken in preparation for a mission trip to Africa. But before this was discovered the doctors ran a number of tests, including a nerve conduction study. He describes it as the worst thing that has even happened to him. He even admits to screaming and crying during the procedure (he also confessed to crying when he got the shots that put him in the hospital in the first place) and he said he still has nightmares about it. I almost fainted. 


I told a few gal pals about this and they all had the same response, "Oh, you know men are babies. Don't let that bother you." Now as a feminist I typically can't stand generalizations about the sexes, however, I decided to grab on to this stereotype for the sake of my sanity. But two days before the test I mentioned it to a female colleague and she began to scream like I'd just said I was getting my nipples pierced. Turns out she'd had a nerve conduction study too. She then says, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you. I think it all just depends on what body part they're testing. For me it was my leg." Obviously, that didn't help. And it burst bubble of stereotypes. I could no longer lean on the men are babies theory because this panicked colleague was a woman. Now do you see how stereotypes can get you into trouble?


The big day arrives. My small group from church and a few pals from work are praying for me. Some say they're praying the results show my nerves and muscles are healthy, but I'm thinking, "Screw the results. Just pray that this test doesn't send me into cardiac arrest."


I'm led back to the examination room and given one of those high fashion ass-out gowns for which the health care industry is known. I lie down and the technician sticks a number of wires to my leg. She's explaining the procedure but all I can hear is my heartbeat. Then it starts. The electrical stimulation feels so strange. At times it feels like a ripple of heat going through my leg or foot. At other times, the the pulse is a strong jolt and my leg involuntarily jumps off the bed. But guess what. It doesn't hurt! At all! It's certainly an unusual feeling but  far from a painful one. The pain, I figure must be coming in the second part of the test. 


The doctor comes in and explains that she'll test my muscles with a number of fine needles. I nod, she fiddles around with some things and then says usually people only feel pain when she inserts the needles. I say, "Okay, let me know when you're ready to start." But she already has. There's a needle sticking in my thigh and I hadn't even noticed. The needles to the back of my leg and those in sensitive places like my feet did hurt a bit, but I've experienced worse pain walking around all day in heels. 


My leg was sore the rest of the day. The places where the needles had been inserted were especially tender and my muscles were cramping perhaps in an effort to punish me for allowing them to face electric shocks. When I saw my brother later that day he said I was walking like a penguin, but I was a proud penguin. I had survived the dreaded procedure and handled it with grace. I don't know if it's fair or not to say that men are babies, but I know one thing -- I am badass! 
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Monday, October 25, 2010

Born into a musical family in New Orleans, Ledisi Young began performing with the New Orleans Symphony Orchestra at age eight.  She later moved to Oakland where she formed a jazz-infused soul group called Anibade (which is the singer's middle name). Unfortunately, the group didn't get much exposure outside of Oakland, but Ledisi eventually launched her solo career. As a solo artist, she has released four albums. Enjoy!


-- Desiree





Also check out "Think of You".
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Friday, October 22, 2010

If you're my friend or faithful follower of this blog, you probably know that I'm not sold on the whole motherhood thing. More accurately, I'm absolutely terrified of the idea of giving birth and raising a kid. But there is one little boy who tempts me to join the mommy club. His name is Nick. He's the son of one of my BFFs and he is quite possibly the world's cutest toddler. Don't believe me? Check this out:






And here's Nick getting ready for Halloween.




Nick always looks like he's bubbling over with joy in his photos and mom says that, believe it or not, he's actually that happy most of the time. I've even seen a picture of this kid smiling while getting a haircut. What kid likes getting haircuts?!


My pal recently entered Nick in the Gap Casting Call Contest, a search for the next faces of Baby Gap and Gap Kids. So, as my friend says, help a baby out and cast your votes for him. Click here to vote. The child who receives the most "Fan Votes" will win the Fan Favorite Award and a $1,000 Gap gift card, so vote and keep voting.  




Click here for more details about the contest, and let's pray that if I do ever get knocked up I have a baby at least half as happy (and cute) as little Nick. 



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Thursday, October 21, 2010

While this isn't exactly politically correct and it makes generalizations about black women that I know don't apply to me or a number of my friends, I must admit this video is pretty hilarious. Tell me what you think. 


Warning: Do NOT watch this at work. This virtual guy has a potty mouth. 


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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Another Yale University fraternity has made headlines for being sexist and down right stupid. At a recent pledge initiation ceremony Yale's chapter of the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity had members shouting phrases like "No means yes, yes means anal" as they walked around campus. 


The Huffington Post reports that last week DKE met with members of the school's women's center to apologize for the vulgar chants. The Yale Daily News reports that in an e-mail to the paper, DKE president Jordan Forney called the chants "inappropriate, disrespectful, and very hurtful to others." He went on to say, "It was a serious lapse in judgement by the fraternity and in very poor taste," and added that DKE does not condone sexual violence.

Members of the Yale Women's Center called the chants "hate speech" and "an active call for sexual violence." 
In an article for Broad Recognition, a feminist Yale publication, Hannah Zeavin encouraged students to contact the school's deans and demand that real administrative action be taken against the fraternity and its leaders. 
She said this is the last straw pointing to a 2008 incident in which the Zeta Psi fraternity posed for a group picture in front of the Women's Center holding a sign that read "We love Yale Sluts."

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Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Did anyone check out BET's Top 10 Rappers of the 21st Century last week?


Instead of airing Soul Plane on a continuous loop, it seems like BET is following Vh1's lead and instead of coming up with original programming they're just airing hourlong lists with talking heads babbling - or "offering insight," depending on your level of tolerance.


I couldn't resist checking out their list, even though I knew I would be appalled by their selections. And yep, I was appalled - but certainly not in the manner I expected.


The artists up for consideration were required to have released their solo album in 1999 or later, so no Nas or Jay-Z or Missy Elliott allowed. The list was determined from 15 "finalists" selected by fans: Game, Ludacris, Drake, Nelly, Eminem, Jadakiss, Rick Ross, Eve, Kanye, T.I., Fabolous, Lil Wayne, Young Jeezy and, ugh, Gucci Mane. I have NO idea why Eve was in the running (was her TV show that good?), but whatever. I'm shocked they didn't fudge the rules to shoehorn Nicki Minaj into the running. I don't get the obsession with that woman.


The panel of judges ranged from DJs, producers, writers and bloggers. Guess my invitation was lost in the mail. Artists were ranked according to flow, lyrics, subject range, impact, money, and "digital swagger" - the hood term for Facebook friends, I suppose. If the panel couldn't agree on a ranking there was a weird re-count system that resembled a game of Uno - I won't even attempt to explain it.


After an hour of bickering, here's what the panel decided:


10. Rick Ross


9. Jadakiss


8. Young Jeezy


7. Drake


6. Ludacris


5. T.I.


4. 50 Cent


3. Kanye West


2. Lil Wayne


1. Eminem




Actually, their list isn't horrible. Putting aside personal preferences for guys like Jada and Fab, whom I love but lack the impact of others, here are my unbiased picks:


10. Game


9. Drake


8. Young Jeezy


7. T.I.


6. Nelly


5. Ludacris


4. 50 Cent


3. Lil Wayne


2. Eminem


1. Kanye West




I went with Kanye for the top spot because, with the slight exception of Wayne, he's the only true trendsetter on the list. He sings auto-tune, everyone sings auto-tune. He starts wearing his little sister's jeans, everyone starts wearing their little sister's jeans. Plus he has the best overall body of work, despite THIS.


But there is one glaring omission from the experts' list:











Yes, I'm defending Nelly. I keep it real, even when it hurts.


Please do not get me wrong. I despise Nelly. Although his success predated the birth of Georgia Mae, most of you could already guess that I'm not very fond of the guy. I hated his Mother Goose-sounding raps, I hated that he dated Ashanti, I hated that stupid Band-Aid he wore, I hated that he dated Ashanti - I could keep going but I don't want to offend Ashanti.


Seriously, it's pretty short-sighted to exclude an artist who has sold more than 20 million albums in the U.S. alone. Throw in international sales, and that's slightly more than the Number 5-10 artists' sales COMBINED. Sure he hasn't done much lately but neither has 50, unless you count Internet beefs. Some of the panelists said Nelly's lack of lyrical dexterity excluded him from the list. I certainly wouldn't call Jeezy or Rawsssssse lyrical powerhouses, yet they made it.


Only panelist Jermaine Dupri seemed upset by Nelly's exclusion but he didn't have enough yellow Uno cards to re-count the hanging chads, or something.


A big problem with the industry is its refusal to look back and give past artists their due. We only live in the moment - which is why Rawsssssssse, who dropped an album this year, made the list over Game, who has way better songs and sales but hasn't released anything lately. Out of sight, out of mind.


So today I reluctantly salute Nelly. Because of him, rappers are singing all over the radio and forcing their less-talented friends upon us. A true pioneer.


He even has new song. True to form, it's wack. Ah Nelly, it's like you never left.

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Monday, October 18, 2010

This morning I posted the Sesame Street "I Love My Hair" segment that has all of us natural girls swooning. This afternoon I came home and found this -- the "Whip My Hair" Sesame Street remix. This might actually make me like this ridiculous song. 

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Hip hop, why won't you love Justin Bieber?


It's not like he needs the admiration. According to every girl 16 and younger - and a 29-year-old boss of this site -he's absolutely dreamy. And even though his haircut looks like something I made in pottery class, a world-class hater like myself can't diss the guy. He has a decent voice and seems relatively humble.


Although he gets props from R&B and hip-hop heavyweights like Usher and Kanye West, a lot of fans are quick to dismiss him. And for some reason, Lil' Justin keeps trying to get our attention.


Remember a few months ago when Kayne remixed Justin's "Runaway Love" with using a 15-year-old, foul-mouthed Wu-Tang Clan song and verses from Raekwon? I'm sure 99.99 percent of Justin's fan base has NO IDEA who or what Raekwon or Wu-Tang is. I figured Justin was trying to infiltrate BET's 106 and Park market.


Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure today's 106 and Park kids likewise have no idea who Rae or the Wu are, so maybe that wasn't the brightest idea.


So Justin went back to the drawing board. Last week Justin debuted his rappin' alter ego Shawty Mane (SIGH) and "freestyled" over Cam'ron and Vado's "Speaking in Tongues."









This won't be going on my iPod, but I've heard worse. I have a bigger issue with his moniker combining the names of two of the worst rappers alive - Shawty Lo and Gucci Mane. That's just a recipe for suck. There are even rumblings that he - GASP - stole someone else's lyrics! Ah, just like the big rap stars. He's learning.


That ain't all! Not to be outdone by T.I., Justin's embarking on a criminal career! Sort of. From yahoo.com:


Canadian pop star Justin Bieber is under police investigation over an alleged laser tag game mishap with a 12-year-old.


The Vancouver Sun reported Sunday that Bieber, 16, was trying to avoid getting tagged during a game on Friday and accidentally knocked over the unidentified boy, whose injuries were minor.


Doesn't quite rank up there with Shyne shooting a lady in the face but give him time.


Internet freestyles, smacking around people weaker than he is - all Justin needs is a gun conviction and weed charge and he's a full-fledged hip hop star.


Then will you love him?
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Ladies, we're not too old to learn from Sesame Street. Check out this recently-aired segment "I Love My Hair," in which a brown muppet girl sings about how much she loves her hair, whether it's natural, braided, or in an Afro.

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Friday, October 15, 2010




Over the course of Georgia Mae's history, I've been accused of many, many things. But the most common accusation is that I'm just a big ol' hater.




Hate, hate, hate. I'm just a big ol' plate of hate dogs with bottle of haterade.


So today, and just for today, I'm going to nix the negativity in today's post about another of my nemeses, T.I.


I've been on T.I. for years, ever since he came out of nowhere, proclaimed himself King of The South and everyone just went along with it. If I knew it was that easy I would have proclaimed myself King of the Sour Patch Kids long ago. Hopefully I could have gotten some free candy out of it.


Mediocre songs and albums followed, along with a boatload of felonies. But somehow T.I. always walked away relatively unscathed. I still don't get how the dude got caught with a billion automatic weapons and got a slap on the wrist. Did they think he needed them to play Contra?


Sorry, I promised not to be negative...


But we found out yesterday that T.I. did something even I can't whine about. He saved some poor guy's life! From cnn.com:


Rapper T.I. helped police persuade a man not to jump off the roof of high-rise hotel roof in Midtown Atlanta on Wednesday afternoon, police said.


T.I., whose real name is Clifford Harris, talked to the man about how a person "can make it through anything," Atlanta Police spokesman James Polite said.


...Police were trying to talk the man, who appeared to be about 25 years old, from jumping from the 22-story Colony Square Hotel when Harris "appeared out of nowhere," Polite said.


Harris offered to help convince the man that "life's not that bad," a proposal that police accepted, he said.


The man, who was not identified by police, agreed to leave the roof to meet with the rapper.


Wow, it's amazing how T.I. "appeared out of nowhere," Batman-style, and was able to save the crazy man from plummeting to his doom. He should be applauded.


And how great is it that he saved another human being's life TWO DAYS BEFORE before his hearing on a bunch of drug charges he incurred while riding around with his lovely wife (who doesn't at all look like Jersey Shore marsupial Snooki)? And for the naysayers, he even took the time to inform us that it's NOT AT ALL a staged publicity stunt to garner sympathy. From xxlmag.com:


"I’m aware some people are saying this was a publicity stunt,” he acknowledged. “That’s preposterous. People refuse to acknowledge that God has a purpose for all people. Fate and destiny, all these things, they put us where we’re supposed to be... I didn’t wake up in the morning knowing this was going to happen.”















Oh Cynical Puppy, you're too cynical. If this helps sway the judge to let T.I. off the hook yet again, that's just a big coincidence.


At least that's my opinion today. Ask me tomorrow and I'll probably have a more negative outlook.
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Thursday, October 14, 2010




I shared on the ol' Facebook page a week or so ago that I recently made my FINAL student loan payment. No longer am I Uncle Sam's whipping boy.


Oh yes, playa, I'm running through the cotton fields hand-in-hand with Harriet Tubman, screaming, "We's free now!"


...For a moment, anyway. One bill down, about five or six more to go before I'm where I want to be financially. It's a start, right?


But for those of you still struggling to find a financial foothold like me, here's a tidbit that will help you sleep better at night- I bet you have more money than Toni Braxton. From tmz.com:


Toni Braxton has filed for bankruptcy again - claiming she owes somewhere between $10 million and $50 million in unpaid debts all over the country ... including DMVs in TWO different states.


Braxton - who sold more than 40 million albums in her career - just filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy in California ... and in the docs, the singer claims she's only worth somewhere between $1 mil and $10 mil ... but she could have up to $50 mil in debts.


At first glance, I felt bad for Toni. This is just the latest in long string of financial woes. People with too much time on their hands might recall her filing for bankruptcy way back in '98, blaming issues with her record label. I initially assumed that Toni was getting yanked around by her label again and I was set to send a threatening e-mail to her bosses, Nas-style. Those evil executives, always throwing dog doo-doo on magical moments.


But after looking at TMZ's list of creditors that Toni allegedly owes, I came to a more realistic conclusion - she just ain't paying her bills.


DirecTV? AT&T? Some random air conditioning company? The Orkin man? Come on, Toni, I could have let you hold a couple of dollars to get rid of your silverfish.


The TMZ story cited some nameless source who claimed that health insurance issues tied with Toni's canceled Las Vegas shows put her in the hole. Even if that's true, she still should have handled her business better. I'm no billionaire but I know enough about business not to screw around with the IRS or insurance companies. They're more gangsta than any pimp on the corner.


I don't know why celebs have such poor money management. If times got tough and Toni couldn't afford to pay DirecTV because her money was funny (and her change was strange) she should have just went to basic TV. If that AT&T bill gets too high, hit up Walmart for one of those go-phones - they work just as well as a smart phone. Who needs a camera on their phone anyway? Why is she still walking around in $1,000 shoes if she's broke?


Call my methods cheap; I call them smart. Take it from me - I've paid off one of about 90 bills, I'm on my way to being the next Warren Buffett. Or more likely, the next Warren Sapp.



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Wednesday, October 13, 2010

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?


-- Langston Hughes


As I write this it is 6:30 p.m. and I'm exhausted. It's the last day of what was supposed to be my fall break, but I spent most of today (and all of yesterday morning) grading papers. Now that the essays have been put away I need to blog. I need to blog because Georgia Mae is essentially the life support keeping my writing dreams alive. But my body and brain are both tired and for a long time now I've been tempted to pull the plug. 

I've been wondering if I should just give up on writing and give myself fully to teaching? But if I do that will my deferred dream fester and run until it finally causes me to explode? 

I left my job as a full-time reporter because I felt it was what God wanted me to do and because I'd had a desire since college to teach full-time. But now that I don't write for a living I feel like half a person. I knew I'd miss some things about journalism, but I didn't sweat it because I figured since I would no longer have obligations to a specific publication to write about particular things (most of which I had little to no interest in) I'd have plenty of ideas and creative energy for writing grand essays in my free time. Unfortunately, that free time doesn't really exist and neither does that creative energy. The ideas are there. They've been jotted down in a notebook and they sit patiently like tiny seeds waiting for me to water them. But all I offer them is drought. 


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Tuesday, October 12, 2010





When I was a girl I prayed to God for three things every night before bed: please let Mama, Daddy, and Granny live for a long, long time; please don’t let me have another nightmare about Jason from Friday the 13th; and please make my boobs grow soon. By the time I was in 4th grade all my friends were wearing training bras. Meanwhile, my chest was flat as a board and would stay that way until junior high. I decided to take up this matter with a higher power because I was sure I’d been cursed. According to genetics I should have been stacked. The women in my family filled DD-cup bras easily. So what was wrong with me?
I would eventually make it to a B-cup bra, but that wasn’t enough. For years one of my life goals, sandwiched between “Be a best-selling author” and “Travel to London,” was “Wear a C-cup bra.” Then I discovered feminism, self-esteem and the joy of being able to wear tank tops without worry of being over exposed. By the time I reached my 20s I was finally completely content with my breasts as they were. I even wrote and published columns about them when I was a writer for the Louisville lifestyle magazine Velocity Weekly. 

Then came 2009. I was 28 years old and suddenly my breasts started to grow like I’d hit some delayed stage of puberty.  I also went up a pants size that year, so the increase in boob size was most likely from that dreaded weight gain that all my older gal pals warned would hit as I crept closer to 30. I could no longer button the top button of my favorite vest. My sports bras offered no support when I was working out and I was spilling out of nearly every bra I owned. Nonetheless, I refused to be measured for a new size. I’d worked entirely too hard to be happy with my B-cup boobs for nature to go changing things.

But this weekend while at the Southern Women's Show with my mom I strolled by a booth set up by the department store Belk that was helping women discover their right bra size. So I decided to give it a try. I stepped behind the curtain and the sales associate asked me what size I typically purchased. I proudly said "36 B" and she laughed in my face. She said, "36 is probably OK, but you're most likely way off with that B-cup." So she measured me and then said, "I'll be back. I'm going to get a bra that I think will fit you." She came back with one that looked a bit bigger than what I normally purchase, but when I put it on without checking the size. It fit perfectly. Then she said, "That's a 34 double D." I almost passed out. I was so stunned by this revelation I had break out my Blackberry and text my cousin/BFF about it. 

The sales associate informed me that the average woman is a D cup and that most women, especially those who consider themselves small-chested, wear bras that are way too small. 

So I'm a 34 DD. You'd think I'd be happy. The curse is broken. But I'm not. DD bras are NOT sexy and the few that are cute are too expensive. I coughed up the cash for one new bra in this newly discovered size, but to be honest, I'll probably continue to stuff the tatas in my B-cups for a while or just stick to wearing camisoles with built-in bras. I'm in denial. It's hard to believe my bosom buddies are all grown up.  

  
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