I'm 23 and I don't think they are going to get any bigger. I don't know how I managed to get the stingy boob gene.
I want someone to invent something that chooses where you put on your fat. I reckon that would be on par with someone inventing teleportation haha for women at least.
I think by 23 I realized I was doomed that department. Oh I have a D cup but it's not in front it's in back and lower. I can't find clothes for a whole nother reason. Small torso not so small waist. -sigh- and I come from a family of "well endowed" females. My aunt took off a little over 15 pounds when she got breast cancer, she looked at the doc and said why couldn't he take off the other 15 pounds.
Anyhoo for tops I usually buy Junior size. Yeah sure I am XL to XXL in Junior but I find it better fits woman who lack anything upstairs. But it makes me so fusterated that the cute adult clothes are usually made for woman with big racks. One of two things will happen you'll flash people, or you'll look like a clown wearing it.
Anyhoo having a fusterating week. Comming to realization I broke my betta. My electric bike I just bought can't go more then 2 miles withotu overheating. Going to a convention in a month trying to prepare for that but failing. Drama at work, drama at home. Probably because anticipation for said convention is bugging me. My OCD really shows when someone tries to plan something randomly. Not to mention when they ask if your giong ot have a costume ready for it when it's short notice and you can't sew, and can't find someone to bribe to sew for you.... Now I am hungry.
I'm sorry to change the subject, but I really have to rant about this to someone.
Last night I was doing a bunch of fish stuff. Getting a new amount of girls in the sorority and starting my conditioning for breeding. I know it sounds simple, but it required trips up and down the stairs and cups and baggies and blah. Lots of stuff. Anyways, I left it on my bedroom floor last night, because by the time I was done it was like 11:30 at night and my boyfriend had to get up for work at 5:00 and I didn't want to chance disrupting his sleep any longer. I decided to sleep in, since I'm usually up pretty early, but I forgot to lock my door. I have to lock my door, because my grandma apparently can't resist the urge to come into my room and b**** at me about a "dirty" room while I'm sleeping. WHILE I'M SLEEPING. WHAT THE DGSHDAGFLJHKLDS. So guess what I woke up to this morning? My grandma bursts into my room and immediately yells "God d*** Shannah, this room is disgusting! To be fair, I HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN UP FROM BED TO CLEAN YET. So she starts her usual cleaning while b******* about my room not being clean. Then she spills my blood worms on the floor. I don't even know how she did this. The bloodworms were on the table and she spilled them on the other side of the room. It's MY fault though. So the first thing she says after she spills them? "Shannah, you're such a slob. You and your boyfriend are meant for each other."
The only thing I can think is how much I seriously despise this woman right now. So I tell her to get out. Then she tells me to WAIT on that, because she isn't done yet. Uhm. Excuse me? No. GTFO. I put up with a LOT of crap. A drug-using alcoholic mother who calls me at really odd times during the day/night, a transexual father who doesn't care about anything else right now other than changing sexes and doesn't seem to want to talk about anything else (forget that I don't care what she even looks like, as long as we're spending time), my boyfriend's psycho mother who threatens to call the sheriff to check on him if he doesn't answer his phone, and then this on an almost daily basis (if I forget to lock my door).
I want to graduate college. If I didn't want to go to college so bad, I'd just work and be out of here. I would be in my own place and be working, but I can't. No one is paying for my college, either, so I do work. I feel so mad I want to cry. No wonder my anxiety and depression are literally through the roof. I just want to quit. I'm so tired of this. In the end, she asks me if I even care about any of the things that I own. Hello, have you seen the way I love my dog and fish!? The way that I swallow my pride and let you just bash at me daily? Put me down and tell me that I'm not doing enough of anything? The only thing I could even say was, "After a lot of thought, I finally have an answer to your question. Yes, I do care about my things. However, I care about something more than I could ever care about those things: the way that I treat people."
I've been hiding in my room all morning. I have to go pick up my boyfriend in two hours from work. I don't want to go anywhere. If the weather wasn't so bad I'd ask him to walk home since he only works down the street.
Sorry to abruptly change the subject, but I'm feeling particularly ranty after reading a couple of blog posts. This hasn't happened to me today, but it's happened often enough for me to get enraged when I see others really upset by the same thing happening to them, even if I don't know them, I know that feeling.
I am plus-sized. I'm not obese, I'm not even particularly fat, but I do fall into that gap between "normal" and "proper plus-size" clothing sizes in ladies wear. In tops, generally a medium or large is perfect, but for bottoms I either have to get the largest size or move into plus size. My body's weird like that, apparently hourglass shapes don't exist in the clothing design world.
Anyway! Despite the fact that I may not be able to buy jeans at your shop, you have no right to look at me disapprovingly, or sometimes in a disgusted manner. You most certainly do not need to walk up to me, smirk and say, "We don't carry your size here" and move to usher me out of the store. I'm perfectly capable of determining whether or not a garment will fit me, I have a pretty good eye for that. Having a fat person in your shop is not going to scare away customers, just leave me the heck alone.
As for friends and acquaintances (IRL that is, not online)... I don't need your "encouraging" remarks when I mention that I have recently purchased exercise equipment. I am aware that losing a few kilos could help both my spine and my self-esteem, that's why I'm doing it -- that, and I just felt so darn good when I was fitter. I don't need to be given tips on how I can lose more weight, faster. I'm aware of how my body responds to different weight loss methods, which ones work and which ones don't. Continued harassment on the topic is not going to change the way my body works, no matter how long you bug me about what's on my plate.
Believe me, I got this. I might look like a blob, though a somewhat attractive, definitely voluptuous one, and I am aware of the way I look. I've got these things called mirrors in almost every room of my house, and they enable me to see myself in all my full, disgustingly flabby glory (as you seem to see it). I know how much I weigh, what size I am, and how I look. I do not need to be told every time you see me. I'm taking care of it, and I'm doing it slowly, so I don't get "skin bags" like one of these weight-loss-obsessed friends has from losing too much, too quickly.
Please, take your minds and go do something productive with them. Preaching about weight loss isn't helping anyone, unless your aim is to kill motivation and keep that fat friend so you can feel better about yourself. News flash: there isn't much to feel good about if you need to resort to those measures.
Oh my, I totally agree. I am also "not skinny", and am completely aware. Friends and family don't care about it, and I too am trying to drop some pounds, but strangers and retailers in stores need to shut their traps about these things! I recently dropped a size and was proud to walk into a store to look for something when a woman said the exact same thing to me. I really do hate society. Might as well just crawl back into my hole with my fish for now -_- Kudos to you for taking it slow- it doesn't matter how you look to others, just to yourself!
I'm sorry to change the subject, but I really have to rant about this to someone.
I'm sorry that this happens to you. :( You're welcome to PM if you want to vent heavily at any point, and just want someone to listen who knows that feeling. *hugs*
My rant for the day is similar, though definitely not as extreme by any means.
I hate how my grandmother thinks that because I was born female, my rightful place is cooking, cleaning and looking pretty. My focus is most often on my fish, or creating things, and now on getting fit. It's not on making the bed perfectly, it's not on pleasing my man -- we tend to please each other because we're in a relationship, and that's what we do, not because it's my job as the owner of this particular kind of private parts.
She so often goes on and on about how I should wear makeup more often, how I should grow my hair out, how I should wear more feminine clothing. All while my partner is saying how much he loves it when I look tough, how his favourite look of mine is bald, in combat pants and boots. I went through a stage of forced hyper-femininity, though it was still alternative. My goth days are over. My Victorian-era skirts are hung up, probably for good. I discovered these things called comfort and utility, and I really like them. One day I took my makeup off and discovered that there was nothing wrong with what was underneath the foundation and mascara.
So I've settled into this routine of doing things, looking bland perhaps unless I'm doing something special, when I'll actually break out my giant makeup collection and perhaps even a pretty dress, but for the most part I'm doing things I consider more important than a perfectly made bed, or a spotless bedroom. I don't cook for my partner. We tend to cook together. My grandmother thinks this is wrong, and has suggested that I'd rather be a man than a woman. Well yes, thank you for noticing, sometimes that is true, but I'm not exactly about to reveal my gender identity to a homophobic, sexist traditionalist. Imagine the horror if I were trans instead of gender-fluid! She'd have a gay grandchild as well as a trans one!
She thinks everything about me is a direct affront to her sensibilities, and that I have modeled my life on everything she hates. No. I simply turned out to be alternative, to feel more comfortable in my own skin with ink on it, with no hair and with metal in various parts of me. I'm still the same person, I just look different to what she envisioned a "good" granddaughter to be -- the vision of femininity.
I happen to have a passion for body modification, and my mission in what I want in a career is to educate people on safe body mod procedures, to perform clean, safe piercings in the correct environment, and hopefully to contribute to eradicating unsafe and dodgy practices, and join the push for legislation and proper regulation of the body modification industry in this country. Not exactly the picture of a perfect housewife like she wants me to be, but I'd like to think enabling self-expression for others in a safe and clean environment is a fair goal.
She does not. She sees me as disgusting, as something to be ashamed of. I can't think of anything more shameful than not thinking for myself, not having any goals or aspirations. I've been down that road. I spent two and a half years downtrodden in a terribly abusive relationship, moulded to another person's idea of what they wanted, then beaten down and cast aside. I've since developed a spine and a sense of identity and I won't have it taken away from me now after all the work it's taken me to rip myself out of that mentality. Apparently that's a bad thing...