I don't really want to talk blog about that. Not about nipples that are hairy. No. I mean, maybe some other day, because if you know anything about E... you know she probably has a lot to say about nipple hair.
At work tonight, I decided to read a copy of Life & Style magazine that was lying around. Big mistake. This was actually the first in a series of unfortunate events that has occurred thus far. It is only 0330. I have at least four more hours of... this... and anything can happen between now and 0700 when my badge whips through the Kronos.
When I write that I was reading the magazine, I am actually saying that I was "looking at the shiny pictures and pretty people." If you read trashy gossip magazines, you understand. If you are a female between the ages of 15 and ... 40 50 60 (when exactly DO we get over ourselves?), then you also know that the images we are flooded with inside these magazines do nothing more than scream at us. Obscenities. Shouting that we (collectively we--women) don't dress right, aren't tall enough, don't have the right handbag this season, or are *gasp* FIVE FUCKING POUNDS TOO FAT TO WEAR A GOLD SHINY BIKINI ON THE BEACH. Uh... hello... I saw the alleged "after" photos... and puh-fucking-leeze... add five pounds to that woman, and she can still wear whatever the hell she wants to wear (or not wear) on any beach.
I "read" this entire magazine and came up with a "plan" for losing weight in five days for myself. I decided it was necessary. Clearly. My legs don't look like hers, my arms are way too fat, and I can't believe that woman weighs how much I weigh - yet she is 5 inches taller. That's right. I got sucked right in. This is why I don't watch America's Next Top Anorectic. This is why I don't read "magazines" but instead stick to "journals" (*yawn*).
Instead of my usual "lunch"... I went straight for the jello. My punishment? I felt the unmistakable tickle of something on my tongue. A hair. I pulled out a short, black, curly hair. It was IN MY JELLO that I stole from the patient fridge.
I pulled it out of my mouth and taped it to this card (I saw something like this on CSI once or twice. I love forensics). I showed it to my coworker and she agreed. Pube. Fucking pube in my jello. Goddammit. I hope you can get a clear idea of how disturbing this was/is for me. I'm having a hard time recovering from the trauma actually. Let me paint the picture for you all. I work with vaginas. All vaginas. All the time. When eating stolen, diet, miracle jello from the patient fridge the LAST thing you want is a short curly getting stuck in the back of your throat. It's enough to send someone to Occ. Health. I swear. The picture does not do this justice.
I recovered. Coworker and I had a good chuckle after I regained composure. In fact, it helped snap me back into reality. There is no way a five day diet of jello will give me Kim's waistline or Jen's legs. Only plastic surgery. Either that or 4 hours of Bikram Yoga a day, each day, for 3 months. Who has that much time? Celebrities might. It's gotta be the Bikram Yoga... if only I liked to sweat.
I am grateful for the mouthful of pube. Really. Granted, I can think of a myriad of "other" ways to get a mouthful of pube that are all more enjoyable. However, I digress... I am trying to find the silver lining here.
Where was I? Oh ... hairy nipples. I covered my rant regarding the hair... now about the nipples...
I hate bras. Absolutely hate them. I hate how they feel. I hate how they make my tits look (usually bigger). I hate how I look wearing JUST a bra. I hate how my clothes fit after I put a bra on. I hate bra shopping. The only thing I like about bras... is that purely orgasmic feeling when you take it off after wearing it for longer than 3 hours. I think I even make noises and roll my eyes during this festival.
So I don't wear one. Hardly ever. Rarely. I used to wear one for occasions like ... oh.... work and ... hmmm... traffic court - or job interviews, funerals, weddings, baby showers, and power point presentations on the history of midwifery. I used to wear a bra because Ex Girlfriend made me. Uh, yeah. Fucked up. From hundreds of miles away she controlled many things I did or did not wear.
When I left the house to hang with Kevin tonight before work I didn't think twice about my lack of bra. Until I got a "look" from Mrs. Kevin. Then I realized my nipples may or may not be clearly visible through my tee. Dammit. Suddenly I got really embarrassed and worried that my lack of inhibition around the nipple area, may in fact be offensive to some.
I immediately texted S and asked for her opinion.
You can clearly make out my nipples through this tee shirt. Also notice the huge wet spot from my McDonald's iced latte (it wasn't actually THAT great).
S assured me that my nipples are not offensive.
What do you think? Why am I suddenly so self conscious about this? Did this trigger me to read that fucking piece of trash "magazine"... and further trigger some major self loathing tonight?
I hate being a girl sometimes. Especially with huge, ginormous nipples.
