In Which I Have Stuff That Doesn’t Really Add Up to A Coherant Thought

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My friend took me to Zayda Buddy’s in Ballard, which is the newish “Midwestern style” restaurant and it offers pizza and things like gravy fries and fried cheese. I am not saying that I am the Queen of Virtuous Living or anything, but I had a really hard time finding anything on the menu I even wanted to order. I was sad to see my friend pay ten dollars for tot casserole. I pretty much agree with most of the people on yelp who have said MEH. I can’t really slam it, though. If you know you are getting nostalgic bland bar food at the prices of say, midprice Thai food which would be thrice as delicious, then you can’t complain. I am not the audience for this place, because unlike my Iowan friend, I am not nostalgic for dump casserole. I have Stockholm Syndrome and now all I care about is shit like nam pla. I decided to get really drunk, which made me forget that I was eating cheese curds, tots, and hotdogs.

In conclusion, the best part was the drunkenness and the bathroom:

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SOOOO I think I told you that I dropped a cup size some time in the past few months. I have heard the way cup sizes work is expressed in two ways. One is to measure the boobs in weight, as if they are well, melons, and the other, simpler way is to say that for every cup size, your boobs will stick out more or less one inch, once you cram your junk into the appropriate globulareque shape, instead of what they would be doing on their own after two children, which is trying to get away from you like sea cucumbers.

This means that since I dropped from a D to a C-cup, I have lost, in theory, six ounces, or they have gone in one inch closer to my torso. This means that my boobs weigh somewhere around twenty-one ounces, or roughly a pound and a half. HOWEVER. Dropping from a D-cup to a C-cup has made a major difference somewhere else. My bra straps have gone from a practical and comfortable 3/4″-1″ to a flimsy half an inch or less. Once you hit C-cup, they decide you’re all smexy and don’t need to be practical or have the twenty-one ounces supported properly or something.

In FURTHER conclusion, bra scientists can turn in their badges.

34 thoughts on “In Which I Have Stuff That Doesn’t Really Add Up to A Coherant Thought”

  1. “In FURTHER conclusion, bra scientists can turn in their badges.”

    I think that is a given. While I would rather have them than not, I have yet to find a comfortable bra. I am not in pain, but definitely in annoyance with contraptions where the straps slip constantly, both in length and down my shoulders, so I have to do the dip and retrieve all the time; pinchy underwires or if there are no underwires, then sweatiness where I do not want it. I have spent a lot and not a lot, had fittings several places and tried different styles. I have given up on this thing they call “comfort”.

  2. My poor boobies are the same size they were in 5th grade, they don’t even really make bras small enough for me! It would be nice to be able to go braless, but since Newfoundland still has not realized its summer going outside with nip-ons ablaze would probably be embarrassing for everyone involved. Some heat and a tiny bra over here please?

  4. Hee. I wish those created the silhouette I was looking for. Also, I wear a lot of plunging tops. Nope, I need the girlie types.

    Anyone had luck with the Victoria’s Secret 100 Ways bra?

  5. Stay the hell away from VS. (OK, I’m basing that on hearsay, not on personal experience, because they don’t make a single damn bra in my size — I have linebacker shoulders.) Depending on if your band size is big enough (they go down to a 36 I think), I recommend Lane Bryant. They don’t have super thick straps, but all of their bras are constructed well, because their basic premise is that they are designing for the boobedly gifted. And they’re not too expensive, and they’re usually having some sort of buy one get one half off or something sale.

  6. I have little or nothing to add to the conversation about boob holstering. I now have to check out a resturaunt you said was crap, because I stupidly checked out the yelp link you posted and someone compaired the pizza there to Imos. I jones for Imos pizza like a drunk in an irish novel. I’m salivating just thinking about it.

  7. I am so glad that I am not the only person to take pictures of bizarre “art” in restaurant bathrooms. Thank you.

  10. Either helped me to no end, or doomed me to a middling substitue for my jones. I fear you are the nurse in my methadone clinic.

  11. I’ve had luck lately with the Intimissi VS collection. Inexpensive and fits me pretty well (I’m a linebacker 38 B).

  13. I recommend to all bra-wearers that they buy Wacoal and, if possible, go get fitted at Nordstrom. Also, VS bras suck and fall apart in no time.

    Sadly, *my* postpartum, middle-aged boobs have gone *up* a cup size to a ridiculous fucking 32DDD, which means Wacoal no longer makes bras in my size, which means I’m fucking around now trying to find a reliable brand. I have yet to do so.

  14. The bathroom! HA! Even at a D, I’m having trouble finding bra straps that adequately hold up the post-two-children boobs. Meh.

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