HALLOWEEN RANT (I DON'T NEED NO STINKING COSTUME!)

Who needs a store-bought Halloween costume? I look in the mirror at all the ravages that Father Time has done to this tired old body and I’m about as scary as I can get without putting on a mask or wig.

What were once freckles are now fast spreading age spots, and beauty marks have turned into moles that seem to pop up in weird places and make me worry about skin cancer, something that I never thought about a few years ago.

I have lumps and bumps and rolls where once there was an hourglass figure. My skin now drinks in lotion like a camel at an oasis, no longer the texture of a baby’s bottom; rough where it should be smooth and sagging like the shoulders of the exhausted elderly woman I’m fast becoming.

The boobs are heading South of the border and my feet are getting bigger; but not near as fast as my ass is spreading out. The gray is fast taking over my once reddish brown curls and my hairdresser is losing the battle to camouflage the iron colored strands with streaks and highlights.

So I’m not going to dress up tonight. Instead I’m gonna so without makeup, let my hair go wild and stop trying to suck in my gut. I’m wearing sweats, a t-shirt and no bra. I’m letting it all hang out (picture the grandma on the Klumps running in the dream sequence with boobs bouncing all over the place!) and scare all the tick or treaters who show up at the door with my natural hideous self.

So come and get some candy kids. Don’t be afraid, this too will happen to you in a hundred years or so. Happy Halloween y’all.

BRA THAT TURNS INTO A GAS MASK

Who said that there's nothing new under the sun? Folks, I give you a bra that morphs into 2, that's right, 2 lifesaving gas masks. No, it's not a joke. And no, it wasn't invented by a man. Since each breathable bra converts into 2 rebreathers, I guess they plan on we females of the species to share with one of our male coworkers. See guys, we're good for something besides getting coffee.

Now if they could just make the damned underwires comfortable.......

Introducing the bra that is meant to be taken off by Elinor Mills
The gas mask bra is one of the winners at the 19th First Annual Ig Nobel Prize Ceremony.(Credit: Elena Bodnar)

This week the Annals of Improbable Research hosted its 19th First Annual Ig Nobel Prize Ceremony. As CNET News' Elinor Mills wrote, this year was no less ignoble than the previous 18, with such delightful discoveries as applications for panda poo and observations from a lifetime of knuckle cracking.

Elena Bodnar, who lives in Chicago, got her start as a scientist in Ukraine, when she witnessed the devastating effects of the Chernobyl nuclear plant disaster in 1986. She noticed, among other things, that women were wearing bras that may have been lacy but were certainly not life-saving.

Read the article to find out more.

MOVE YOUR ASS

As I’ve complained bragged talked about before, I’ve been on a self improvement kick (i.e. quit smoking, move my ample derriere and get some exercise, maybe even try to eat a little healthier). Sweet Thang is still recovering from his motorcycle mishap; after 3 months being bed-ridden and wheelchair-bound, you’d think he would be chomping at the bit to get back in shape. So the obvious idea would be that we do things together, providing each other with encouragement etc etc . Wrong.

Although Sweet Thang is hobbling around on a cane, he can’t hold out for very long. I’ve been trying to get him to go walking with me but he moans that it’s too hot. Don’t tell his Mom, but the only outing that he’s been interested in is going to the bar and shooting pool while drinking beer with his hard ankle buddies. As a matter of fact, it's the first place he drove when he managed to escape from Mom's watchful eye. So I suggested “mall walking” and he actually got insulted; informing me that’s what “old women do”. Hell, the oldest woman I know can run circles around him; if he doesn’t get his fat ass in gear he’ll never be able to go back to work and I’ll be damned if I’ll feel sorry for him OR support him.

I took him to Sears just to get him out of the house and he lasted about 30 minutes; heck I thought every man alive could spend all day in Sears! The same thing happened at Hartselle’s indoor flea market; 30 minutes and we had to go. I managed to get him to go to the movies and he did stay for the whole film (Live Free or Die Hard; excellent flick, lots of bang for your buck). However he shifted and moaned and groaned the whole time and when it came time to leave it took him 10 minutes just to get out of his seat. The man's gotta start moving or he's going to develop rust!

I know it’s gonna be a long, hard recovery but Sweet Thang has got to get out from in front of the TV and put forth some effort. It’s been 4 months; the bones have healed but his muscles have gone to shit. Yeah, I know it hurts but nothing’s going to make it better other than just grit your teeth and “Get ‘Er Done”. His Aunt has offered the use of her swimming pool for the aqua therapy that his Dr. recommended but I can’t get him to even try. Maybe if I get a cattle prod and keep zapping him he’ll get in gear………..

In other news, I’ve got a new ‘do, y’all. I’ve been foiled! As Ashley worked on giving me a metal head, I glanced in the mirror and scared myself! The image reflected back at me looked like something from SETI looking for radio signals. You know, evidence of life on other planets. ET, phone home!!

So now I have lovely tri-tone tresses, my ever increasing gray hairs are camouflaged, and the guys at work are actually giving me compliments. I must look OK, usually I have to shave my head before they notice so compliments are a big deal. Plus they keep asking me how much weight I’ve lost. My clothes fit differently, I can actually shimmy into some jeans that I haven’t worn in several years and zip them while standing up, but the dad gummed #%*^%^# scales haven’t budged.

I guess I’m rearranging my body even if I haven’t dropped any pounds. I did get my body fat content and measurements taken at Curves the other day; every thing was about what I imagined, not good but improving. But I was shocked at my bust measurement, I'm 48 inches around the boobs! Now I know why I weigh so much, I've got 50 pounds of titties weighing me down. I knew I wear several sizes bigger in tops than bottoms but dang y'all. Now I feel lop-sidded.

Sorry I’ve been MIA, I promise to do better. I just got high speed at home so it should be easier for me to post from there. Heck; new hair, new modem, tighter ass ………. Who knows what’ll happen next!

TITILICIOUS

OK all you penis-packing testosterone laden members of the blogsphere, you can stop reading right here; this is a girly post that doesn’t concern you. Consider yourself warned and read on at your own risk.

MISSION: To find the perfect undergarment to wear beneath racer-back shirts and tank tops.

Karen and I spent the day in Florence bra shopping. ALL DAY! With no results. Now you would think this would be a simple task considering almost every woman’s clothing store sells bras. Karen’s a normal size (I won’t embarrass her by posting her over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder size) but I’m a 36-F (sometimes even a 36-G. What can I say; my family was blessed in the boobage department). Sometimes I feel like I should have stared in the Woody Allen movie, "Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex" where the runaway boob ravages the country side!

I didn’t have high hopes for myself because they don’t make a wide variety of bras in my cup size that don’t have a 40 or above chest measurement, but I figured that fitting Karen would be a cinch. We hit Kohl’s, Sears, Parisians, Dillard’s, Victoria’s Secret and several places that I never heard of. I saw T-backs, bustiers, corsets, strapless, criss-cross, convertibles, body shapers, body stockings and a couple of things that I don’t know what you would call them but nothing worked. We found tons of stuff for flat-chested teeny boppers but nothing that suited Karen. Either the straps were too wide set on the shoulders or something else was wrong with them.

I didn’t find anything to even remotely fit me that had a T-back and didn’t look like something that ought to have the word “granny” on the label. Hell, most of the tiny things didn’t cover much more than my nipple! Don’t the underwear manufactures of the world understand that we well-endowed women like sexy lingerie too? I want to wear lace and pretty colors! I own dozens of tank tops and have a bitch of a time hiding bra straps. Forget racer or T-back tops, I can’t find anything remotely sexy to hold up the mounds of flesh hanging off my chest and going braless is totally out of the question! It was impossible when I was young and at the age of 51, after Father Time and gravity have had their way with my tired old body, it damn sure ain’t happening now.

What I don’t understand is now that women are getting breast implants faster than they get their teeth cleaned, why can’t you find something to fit a breast that’s bigger than an apple? How hard can it be to take a pretty bra and make it in a bigger size? I figure that if I lived in New York or Hollywood the shopping options would be different but even when I shopped on line I couldn’t find much more than what is around here.

Boobilicious Babes of the world unite! We should get up a lobby group to force the bra makers of the world to fit us with sexy undies! Give us lace! Give us colors and stripes and animal prints! Give us T-backs and strapless! We deserve, NAY, we demand equal lingerie rights!