Men, or anybody who’s uncomfortable with breast talk, you may want to just head over to or The Oatmeal, cuz’ this post isn’t for you. (I’m sure because I said that means you’ll keep reading. I warned you.) This post was inspired by my recent need for smaller bras (Yay weight loss! Boo bras!).

Photo borrowed from

I’m firing my bra. Bra, you are the bane of my existence. You are an awkward, uncomfortable, expensive thing that has the fulltime job of holding up my lovely lady lumps. That wouldn’t be such a bad job if you were able to do it with competence, ease and comfort, but you need to be fired. I am terminating your services and finding someone else.  You need to be fired for being cone shaped when my boobs are round. For having a pokey, cold metal skewer that digs into the underside of my boobs like an awkward half-way hug. You need to be fired for having thick, lame straps that cut into my shoulders, and for having stupid marketing drivel on your tags like “age defying lift” and “back smoothing minimizer”.

I don’t want age defying lift. I’m 26 years old. I want a bra that’s pretty, comfortable, and not too expensive.  I want a bra that neither flattens nor pumps up my breasts – I want a bra that supports my breasts, holds them softly, whispers to them that they’re going to be all right. You, bra, are fired, because I don’t want to hang out with you after work. As soon as I get home, I fling you off into the dark corner of my bedroom, grateful to be rid of you until the next day. We are not friends. I wish we could be.

I want a bra that shows off the good things and hides the bad. I don’t want a bra with “concealing petals” or “smooth revolution”. I want a bra that does these very basic things: supports my tatas, hides unfortunate headlights and doesn’t show through sheer shirts. I want lovely, frilly bras that hold my breasts up like they’re being worshipped, that makes them feel beautiful and loved and necessary. Occasionally I want a bra that elevates me to bombshell status, that makes my boobs look large and proud and profound. But usually, I want a bra that makes me look like the logical, professional person I am – a bra that subtly hides these rockin’ orbs from the view of the ogling Neanderthals of the universe. (Any men who are still reading: Sorry! You’re not all Neanderthals, and I know it’s just your evolutionary nature. Boobs = food for your babies.)

I want a bra that comes with pretty sounding sizes, like “Pleasantly ripe cantaloupes” or “perfectly petite peaches”. I don’t want to be a 40C, or a 38B, or a 46DD. My boobs are not an equation. They’re not letters or numbers. I want my bra size to match the worth of these beautiful, feminine shapes that grace my figure, and I think all gals might like the same, be they magnificently busty or splendidly small. I want a bra that makes me feel proud of my shape, that comes in beautiful soft fabrics and silks with pretty matching panties. A bra that can be worn all day at work, but still be pretty and soft and sensual at the end of a long day.

Why not just not wear a bra, you say? Because when you have large, round breasts, they need support. They need a nice frame to create a pretty picture, to make clothes drape nicely instead of cling, to be held up high, to keep the googly eyes away.

I settled today, Bras. I settled on four of you from a large department store, each from well-known brands that were MOSTLY comfortable and pretty and decent. But they still weren’t perfect. They’re not my soulmate. We won’t hang out late at night. We’re still not friends, and I wish we could be. If I could find the right one, we’d be the perfect pair. Can you imagine? How wonderful it would be to have the perfect bra for my perfect pair.

I’ll find you one day, Bra. I will. Even if I have to make you myself.


Giving Thanks

Hey Bloggies! I’m back after an awesome long weekend in Petaluma with my family. Matt and I are blessed to have amazing parents, two sweet siblings, and wonderful close friends. I have a lot to be thankful for! It was so nice to have a few days off and actually spend extended periods of time with them – and in true Thanksgiving tradition, much of our quality time spent together revolved around food!

Thanksgiving Feast #1

On Thursday, my in-laws came over to my parent’s house to have dinner with my parents and my sister and brother. Matt and I are so lucky that our parents all get along – in fact, they often have dinner together and hang out with out us being around! We’ve even been on vacation together. It’s really cool. My dad smoked a turkey, and we had mashed potatoes, cranberries, crescent rolls, wild rice, green bean casserole, yams and stuffing to go with it. I think I got a little bit of everything on this plate…

Feast #2

On Saturday, we had Thanksgiving feast #2 at the in-law’s house. Matt’s dad barbequed a turkey, and we had two types of stuffing (but they call it dressing – do you call it stuffing or dressing? Just curious!). There was a cornbread jalapeno stuffing that was kind of sweet, and a more savory spinach stuffing with sausage and olives. Tasty, tasty. The star of the night in my opinion were Matt’s dad’s prosciutto green beans. He sauteed the green beans with prosciutto, olive oil and marsala wine. They were incredibly delicious… and I had seconds. I’ll definitely be trying to make them!

Prosciutto green beans

We’re going to be having Thanksgiving feast #3 soon, because I’m a glutton. No, really it’s because we got a free turkey at work, and I’m not one to turn down free food! I picked up all the fixings and we’ll be hopefully preparing our own feast this week. Then, I can survive on leftovers for my last two weeks of grad school for the year of 2011.

This long Thanksgiving weekend was the perfect thing to get me in the Christmas spirit, and today I decorated the house with shimmering evergreen garlands and our mini tree. The house smells nicely of cinnamon and holly – and we’re feeling very jolly. Below is a sneak peek of our holiday card image… courtesy of Lynnette Joy photography. Aren’t we just the classiest couple on earth? 😉

How was your Thanksgiving weekend? What was the best thing you ate?

A Weighty Situation

I’ve been with my husband for over nine years. In those nine years we’ve shared dreams, devastations, ambitions, phenomenal failures, terrific triumphs, catastrophes and miracles. Our challenges as a couple are always met with unyielding support and encouragement. Because of this, I’ve shared everything with him. The irrational thoughts that swirl around my loud brain, the fact that sometimes I forget to brush my teeth in the morning, the curious joy I get from naming random objects and bursting into song. I have shared everything with him. Well, almost everything. Not quite everything. There’s just this one thing. My weight.

We're better together - through thick and thin!

Somebody once said, there are three things you never ask a woman – her age, her political affiliation, and her weight. I’m 26. I’m a democrat with some independent views.
I weigh _ _ _. I’m an annoyingly honest person – but I just couldn’t share that number. I often suffer from foot in mouth disease, where my bluntness and the fact that I wear my heart on my sleeve gets me into trouble. But there was something about those three numbers that I could never admit, and they hung in the air like an eternal question mark, a number that would never cross my lips. I was ashamed. I am ashamed. But I am also optimistic.

Maybe it was the stigma of being over the dreaded 200, or the fact that I’m about 60 pounds heavier than he is. Maybe it’s the fact that women just DON’T talk about their “number” with men. So I told him. We were having dinner, and I told him. I was sick of leaping off the scale when he came into the room, afraid he’d see my weight. I was sick of having to dance around it in conversations about my weight loss – “Well, I’m up this many pounds but down from the last time I was this much, so that makes me 23 pounds less than my highest…” I was sick of having it be a big, fat elephant sitting on my chest – because the bottom line is that it’s just a number. It doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of life. In my health and self esteem, sure. But it’s not going to make or break my marriage.

We were sitting at the dinner table and it came up, like random bits of conversation often do. I paused. I wanted badly to tell him. I tried. The words stopped at my lips, the “two” dangling mid-air. Did I want to do this? Why? Did it matter? Does he need to know? Yes. Yes ,I want to do this. It matters because it’s a secret. And I don’t like secrets – not between me and my best friend. “You don’t need to tell me,” he said. I told him.

What happened?

He smiled. He admitted that he was impressed that I told him. He reassured me, and was 100% awesome about it, ensuring me that once again, I totally married the right guy for being always, unequivocally at my side. He’s my biggest fan – and I’m glad that now, I can officially say that there are no large, looming mysteries between us. My weight is now just a number – not a secret.

When it comes to your weight and your partner – is mum the word, or do they know the number? If you haven’t shared it, why do you think that is? For me, it’s the years of shame and stigma associated with being fat, the insecurity of my self worth possibly being judged just by a number. I’d like to know your perspective, too.

Weekly Weigh In #?

Hello everybody! Hope you had a great weekend. Yesterday’s stepping on the scale brought more good news, so let’s cut to the chase… I’m down another 2.2 pounds!


I’ve noticed the past few weeks that my jeans have been feeling loose, but the biggest surprise was when I put on my striped Tommy Hilfiger sweater. I begged Matt for this sweater last Christmas – it has alternating stripes in shades of gray with an adorable hot pink trim around the wrists and neckline. It’s awesome, and comfortable, and wasn’t cheap. When I got it last Christmas, it hugged my jelly roll around my tummy a little more than I preferred. Yesterday I put it on and it was baggy. BAGGY!! The fabric in the tummy area actually billowed a little bit. I screamed in pleasure. Yup, it’s true. Winning the lottery? Who needs it?! Just give me some baggy clothes and I’m good. (Oh hey, Universe…I didn’t know you read my blog. I’m totally just kidding about that lottery thing. I’d totally love to win the lottery. KThxBai.)

I reflected on my weight loss today for a bit and I’ve come up with a few important things. First of all, I’m stopping when I’m full. As delicious as each handful of buttered popcorn is, the last handful tastes just the same as the first. So why keep cramming it in my mouth when I know 20 minutes later I’ll be clutching my esophagus in pain?

Second thing is, I’m back on the horse, proverbially, in terms of exercise. I got off the horse because I was on vacation, and then I got sick, and then I got lazy. But the horse gave me a swift kick in the ass I needed, and a few boxing classes and a date with Mr. Simmons later, and I’m back in the saddle. Exercise is important. It makes me feel good afterwards, it makes me feel productive, it helps me stress less, and I’m doing it for ME. Not for my work, not for my school, not for my husband, not for my cats. I’m doing it for ME. That’s a good feeling.

What’s the last thing you’ve done for yourself lately, be it a manicure, a nap, a beer, or losing weight?

Probiotic Power?

I’ve been hearing a lot lately about probiotics. Probiotics are apparently good little bacteria that live in your digestive tract and make sure everything’s moving smoothly. (I’ll try as hard as I can not to be crass in this post, but let’s be honest – digestive enzymes have a lot to do with POOP. Sorry. TMI. I won’t get into the details…)

Does a belly good!

I was watching some trash on TV and saw the usual commercials hawking probiotic products. Then, I was browsing in Sprouts and saw this intriguing little carton of juice called “Good Belly”. It was $3.99 and offered a money back guarantee if you take the “ 12 Day Good Belly” challenge. I chose the cranberry watermelon flavor and began my “regimen” that night. Good Belly juice tasted good, but was a little more thick than normal juice. There was a slightly powdery type of residue at the bottom of the cup that was a little unnerving, but I tried to think of it as happy little sea monkeys that would cheerfully clean my intestines.

Bottoms Up!

So how was my 12 day challenge? Let’s put it this way – things were regular, but not urgent, if you catch my drift. I didn’t notice any particular amazing changes, but I also eat greek yogurt daily. Did it transform my metabolism and turn me into a lean, mean pooping machine? No, but maybe in some secret, unidentifiable way, the helpful bacteria are cleaning up in there, whisking along fat and savoring antioxidants and nutrients.

Are you a believer in probiotics? Have you had any first hand experience or do you think it’s hocus pocus?

Slimmin’ with Simmons

My sister’s visit to Los Angeles meant many things – but among the most important was that we exercise with Richard Simmons! Richard offers classes to the public for $12 at his Beverly Hills Slimmons Studio. The theme on Saturday was MoTown, and as we grooved to “I heard it through the grape vine” and “Twist and Shout”, Richard proved to be his usual enigmatic self and flitted around in his spangled, sequined top.

Richard, Me and April - We're homies!

After a couple of weeks of not exercising slacking off, I was ready for the worst. And while prancing around for an hour and a half was not the EASIEST thing, it was fun, and at the end my body was painfully sore but grateful for a good workout.

Halfway through the class my sister got called out to dance in the circle with Richard! It was fun to see her getting her groove on with Simmons and his famous ‘fro.

One thing I love about Richard Simmons is that he BELIEVES what he’s teaching. While he’s screaming his dirty jokes and simultaneous words of praise, you know he’s doing it for you. He’s not doing it for the paycheck, he’s not doing it for his ego. He’s doing it because he genuinely cares about your health and wants you to be the best you can be. I did my normal boxing class last night, and while it was a good workout, it was just nowhere near as FUN as class with Richard is. Exercise that’s fun is so much more easy to do! If only I could go twice a week!

What do you think – if you came to Los Angeles, would you want to sweat with Richard Simmons?