First, my blog is officially two years old. That means in about a week or two I’m officially single for two years. Maybe subconsciously that’s why my mind has been a jerk lately.
Thank you to everyone who has been around for those two years! In the past month I’ve been really pushing to do some new and exciting things, I also just finished a piece for an anthology which will be printed, so I’ll finally get to say I’m published in like two months. Don’t forget to check out our new site, between Dana and myself, which will be aiming towards a very lofty program. Its called the lands of Volden, and in time you’ll see why.
The next part comes down to boobs. So part of the reason I’m single for two years (though I think there’s a lot more), is because even when taken I enjoyed looking at them. Looking. I still enjoy looking. Twenty seconds a day helps improve heart health.
Anyway, I’m trying not to look at boobs. I want to be more respectful to women, and I think this is a great way to do it. You know the issue? I log onto WordPress, and it’s the first picture on my reader. It wasn’t even Chive, it was someone who usually gives fitness advice. There wasn’t even a face. We were literally just looking at her rack, which was of an impressive magnitude in a sports bra made for girls who could be mistaken for boys.
It’s really hard in our society to go more than ten minutes without a pair in underwear being thrust in my face, and it’s a little frustrating. It creates a lot of respect for women who are able to be attractive without waving their boobies around.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying women need to be ultra modest. However, when the picture is just a woman’s chest in a sports bra that is very obviously too small for her, they are going for a particular look. Or when she’s wearing a lacy bra on my Pandora dating site ads. Or when “friends” post nearly naked pics of themselves. It’d just be nice if I could go five minutes without unintentionally breaking my resolve to not look at boobs. To those of you saying “You don’t have to look,” I’ll go streaking in your neighborhood and we’ll see how long until you call the cops. Then I’ll tell them, “They didn’t need to look.”
...like butta' on your toast!
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