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Percy visits to talk about boobs

May 4, 2011

Traffic here has increased, dramatically, over the past two days. While I’ve written three posts in that same time, none of them have had much to do with snark or my general pervishness.

In all honesty, I cannot tell you how much I’ve appreciated the comments over the past couple of days. The congratulations from the Gettysburg marathon have me standing taller than ever before (seriously, it’s not like I need an ego boost), and the “thank you for sharing’s” from my posting yesterday as I remembered my thought process in a very difficult time in my life literally brought tears to my eyes (funny how it gets really, incredibly dusty wherever I am whenever somebody writes something heartfelt to me). But, if I continue down that track, I’ll get all sappy – and I’ve done enough “serious writing” for the time being.

So, it’s time to bring out Percy for a little while. I live in constant fear that my Facebook & Twitter worlds are on a crash course. It’s not a question of if, but when. I mean, I know that I’m writing from the intersection – I created this blog to get out to the world, to increase my readership, to get myself writing more, to “be me” more freely. The problem is, well, my Facebook world kind of knows me. Some know me more than others. And some of them actually know some of the “me” that I try to keep filtered. Still, I act ‘the good guy’ on Facebook. I might get a little raunchy from time to time, but it’s always tongue in cheek. Facebook is where my family sends me birthday notes & my classmates gaga over pictures of my kids. Twitter world is where I take the blinders off. For the most part, I don’t concern myself too much with hiding one from the other – generally, if someone is interested enough in Twitter, can figure out how to use it, and can keep up with it – well, they already know me without the filter.

Still, it’s jarring to be at the intersection of two worlds.

Anyway, today is Boobie Wednesday on Twitter. I’ve written a little about this before, but Boobie Wednesday is, simply, a Twitter meme that gets people thinking about boobs feeling each other up aware of breast cancer. The message is simple – check yourself, often, because cancer is an asshole1.

Part of this is that people post somewhat-provocative pictures of their sweater muffins luscious funbags mammaries. Because Twitter is mostly a family production, there are the normal rules of broadcast decency. Being a man without shame, though, and therefore not subject to the “no nipple” rule (well, mainly because breast cancer in men, while rare, is dangerous because men are unlikely to have anything checked out), I play along. By play along, of course, I mean, I sit back and watch as my time line fills up with very seductive pictures. No – I’m a giver and a pervert taker – I do try to post some eye candy. Because nobody has told me that the pictures made them puke and, if I don’t, I get a reminder or two that I haven’t posted, I show off my chest a little bit.

If you really want to see (though I don’t know why you would):

Where the hell was I going with this?

Honestly, tell me. I’m not sure. I haven’t had more than 4 or 5 hours of sleep in a night since, well, I don’t know when . . . and those nights that I do sleep 4 or 5 hours, the kids are in bed with me, so I can’t actually say that I’m sleeping soundly.

Ok, I posted my moobs, which means I must be thinking about boobs2. Just some random comments because, really, I’m too tired to do much organization.

  • Why is the menswear department at Target located next to the lingerie?
  • As if I didn’t already think that my daughter was growing up way too fast, how is it that every freaking time I stop in at Target to pick up formula, I end up in a row of training bras? I’m pretty sure I couldn’t find training bras, anywhere, if I were given such a task. Well, I guess, should such a day occur, all I need to do is head into a store, find baby formula, work my way to the cash registers and *boom* I’ll end up in training-bra land.
  • When I was working as a contractor for the federal government, I was often show up somewhat early for work if I wanted to leave in the early afternoon. One day, I got in at 6am and worked my way to the back because there was a networking issue that needed to be addressed (and the networking guys worked in a cage in the back of my cube farm).

    On my way to the networking fishbowl, I crossed two ladies in customer support. I changed the path I was walking to say “hi” because, well, I’m a nice guy, but as I walked up on the one woman with her back to me, she bared her shoulder to show off her tiger-print bra to her conversation partner.

    The woman looked up at me, just then, in horror. I continued walking.

    It took her weeks before she would say more than a rushed “hi” to me after that, though we were somewhat friendly beforehand. I wanted to say “it’s just a bra,” but I know better than to bring up something embarrassing for a person, even if I, personally, wasn’t embarrassed.

  • I vividly remember the first time I saw a real-live breast after the point where I realized that I would like looking at real-live breasts. I was playing bass for my middle-school’s production of Annie. The pit for the stage was directly in front of the stage, but not very deep, so my head “stuck out” from the pit by a good bit when I played.

    While I need to read music as I play (and therefore never see a musical number), I watch the action on stage for any part of a musical that doesn’t include a song & dance (this is why I don’t really like playing “rock operas” – because I’m always playing & therefore never have a clue what’s going on, on-stage, I’ll never catch a nip-slip of the sort I’m describing here). For this show, I had what would be the perfect seat, if it weren’t for the fact that the person sitting in the seat didn’t see any of the musical numbers.

    After “Tomorrow,” there was the great bow from most of the cast – my eyes were pointed directly at the level necessary to see down this person’s shirt, and this person was wearing a loose shirt. At first, I didn’t quite process what I was seeing (I’ll admit that the 13 year old me really would have liked to see this person’s bra), but no – there’s nothing there. “I am seeing [redacted, as there is a better than good chance that she’ll read this blog – see my fear of facebook & twitter colliding] tits” is all that was in my head.

    Needless to say, I missed the first few measures of the reprise.

  • Is it just me, or are bra sightings in public more commonplace? I mean, I remember, growing up, the hint of a bra strap was enough to get me excited. Now, it’s really not uncommon for me to see a lot. Have clothing styles changed? Am I simply taller now & have a better vantage point? Am I so incredibly sexy that women can’t help but lean over in front of me? Am I more observant now3? Did Sienfeld change the bra from being an undergarment to being a garment?

    I mean, it’s really not uncommon for me to be sitting in a meeting, or at the grocery store and my eyes to bulge out of my head I have to politely look away (because I’m a pervert gentleman) as to not stare at the wondrous mounds of lovely jubbly accidental underwear exposure in front of me. I mean, seriously, in the 80’s, I can’t imagine catching a glimpse.

    Hey. Hey. Hey! You ever go by Simpson’s desk when she’s grading papers or somethin’? When she’s leaned over, you can see right down her shirt.


    Swear to God.


    No. No. She’s got one of those undershirt things. So if you get real close to the board, you can see all the way down to her flowers.


    Yeah. Give me your gum.

    Big, 1988

  • During the marathon (did you know I ran a marathon last Sunday? No – I don’t know how you don’t, because I’ve been tooting my horn about it nonstop), the first female runner to cross my path, heading back the other way, was bouncing. I didn’t catch her bib number (see last sentence for why), but I was thinking that my feet absolutely hate me after 26.2 miles, and most everything is confined there. Maybe she was having a temporary wardrobe issue, or maybe there was something up with her stride right at that moment, or maybe she was really into pain, but, honestly, my chest physically hurt watching her.
  • I’ve seen two absolute “wardrobe malfunctions”. Once was during a performance of West Side Story (the Annie thing was in rehearsal) and the other was during a wedding rehearsal (as I was playing with my organ). While the concept of voyeurism is fun & all that, there is zero joy seeing something that a person didn’t want to show. My heart broke for a girl who kicked too high in a dance number to have her costume split. Doubly so when, at the alter, during a wedding rehearsal, a girl reached out to grab the bride’s ribbon bouquet & found that she didn’t have everything in place to wear a strapless dress.

So, yeah, I feel a little better now that “the serious” from the posts over the past couple of days have been cleared. It’s time to head back to my Twitter timeline & reminisce about how wonderful the sound “brrrrrrritsky” is to make sometimes.

1 A full history & compendium of what Boobiewed means can be found here.

2 Other reasons I may be thinking about boobs:

  • It’s Tuesday
  • There is oxygen in the atmosphere
  • I’m awake
  • I’m asleep

3 Not bloody likely.

  1. hahahahahahaha!!!! Sitting here in my clinic with patients waiting because I keep re-reading this and laughing! I wish growing up I knew the power of boobies.

    • The power of boobies is never to be underestimated. I mean, think of a baby – really, boobies are all that matters to a kid for the first months of life 😉

  2. Awww boobs. We do have a weird amount of things in common. Gotta love the boob. Great thing about being THIS girl: I get to check mine out any time I like.

    Wonder if the dude will let me nurse him till he’s like 10. I MIGHT get over them by then.

    Your observed malfunctions remind me of my first. I was in 8th grade and had little chest to speak of, sadly and still wore training bras. On the day of THE EVENT, I was also wearing a shirt that was too tight. I had raised my hand in class and in the process, the bra had slipped up and I had underbra cleavage which of course was emphasized by the too tight shirt. A bitch in my class (who also saw me in gym the period before) spread the rumor that I STUFFED!

    Yeah, its still painful.

    • You know, I have “hippie” friends who went years using “the boob” as a means of pacifying a screaming toddler for a few years. Ten might be a stretch (I can just picture a little kid “this math is stressing me out, I need a shot”), but, you know, different strokes for different folks.

      Mmmm, strokes.

      About the story – mean girls suck (and never, ever swallow)

  3. liz permalink

    I think this is the longest post I’ve ever read, and it was centered completely around boobs. Leave it to a guy to write a novel about boobs.

    • Just wait until I start writing about my penis. Because if you want long….

      Sorry, I’ve had a bottle of wine after not drinking for weeks, I’m, um, whatever the hell that would make me. :-p

      Yeah, I really like boobs. And I’m drunk. But I wasn’t drunk when I wrote the post.

      I’ll just shut up now…

      • I was going to say the same thing – I don’t know if I’ve ever stuck it out through such a long post! Though it was hilarious, so I was unable to look away. You definitely have a talent for writing about boobs.

        (I hesitate to say this, because, well, we don’t know each other that well. Or at all. In any way. So it kinda feels like that creepy stranger who walks up to you on the street and tells you what’s wrong with the way you’re dressed. Only about medicine instead of clothes. But what’s important to promote is mammograms – they seriously decrease death from breast cancer. Self exams don’t, and they rapidly increase your chance of having unnecessary surgical procedures.

        There, I’m officially an annoying commenter. And on my first try too! Not everyone can get hated as quickly as I can.

        It’s a gift.)

        • Thank you for making it through the post, then 🙂

          Speaking of a stranger coming up to tell you how you’re dressed inapproprirately, I once had an old man come up to me in the middle of a Panera and loudly proclaim if I knew that my pants were ripped up the back – was I aware? The funny thing was that I was just thinking that my pants were fitting me great, much more comfortable than most kakhis were.

          Mammograms – got it (seriously, I’m all about keeping boobs healthy). I think I’ll write a follow-up post, but I have to imagine self-exams are better than nothing?

          No worries on appearing creepy – especially with anything remotely health-related . . . now, if I had offered to give you lessons on skin flute performance after your last blog post, well, yeah, that would have been creeepy (the extra “e” is for “especially,” though my want to play the harmonica is sincere and, to the bst of my knowledge, not remotely perverted)

          • First of all, I had completely forgotten my reference to the harmonica, so I was like, “um…” Yes, that would have been uncomfortable – but I’ve had more awkward comments than that, so if you want to win the grand prize you’re just going to have to try harder!

            At least someone told you about your pants. I once walked up the steps of my apartment and reached over into my bag for my key, only to feel that my skirt had gotten stuck in my underwear. Though I’d just been hanging w/friends and walked back to my place not a single person said something! That’s when I realized I could trust no one. (That and spy camp.)

            Mammograms are *incredibly* important (Mammography Saves Lives: but tons of women don’t get them due to discomfort and cost and not knowing the risks so it’s a really good cause to champion. Statistically, self-exams aren’t better than nothing. (CDC reference: And while they can’t increase your chances of breast cancer you’re far more likely to think there’s something wrong and have a biopsy or other surgical procedure performed. It’s the same reason doctors don’t want people to just get full body scans to check their health – *everyone* will have something found and then they’ll be forced to follow-up, even though the vast majority of people would have been fine and now face the dangers of surgery.

            And I’m terribly sorry I’ve forced you to read all this – now you know why people don’t send me chain emails anymore, I’m just incapable of letting something go!

            (It’s also the reason I don’t get invited to many parties.)

            (Well, I suppose there are a lot of reasons for that. But this is one of them.)

            • You haven’t figured out that I like reading well-said rants? Especially when I learn something from them? I like to think that my life is just one long rant that was mostly entertaining at times.

              And this? Is something that shouldn’t be let go (my mom, after I negated 5 email forwards in the same day with a bare minimum of internet research, finally stopped sending such silliness to me). I’ll be posting a follow-up . . . I always assumed that, sure, mammograms are good & stuff, but I didn’t realize that self-exams were so ineffective.

              And the full-body exams scare the shit out of me. I’d hate to know everything wrong with me (though I’m pretty sure the vast majority of things wouldn’t be found in an exam) . . . if there’s something that will affect me in time, and can be fixed — by all means, I want to know. But, random stuff that I’d likely be fine for a long, long time with, where the “cure” is likely worse than the actual whatever-the-hell-it-is-that-I-have? Yeah, I’m happy not knowing about that stuff.

  4. Here’s my thing about the “boobie Wednesday” phenomena: most of the time, I think people use it as a way to show off their cleavage rather than raise awareness. If they really wanted to raise awareness, they’d post a picture of a chest covered in post-mastectomy scars.

    That’s not a criticism of you or your man boob avatars, just an expression of my discomfort with some of the oversharing I see on The Twitter. I’ve got no problem with people saying, “HEY! CHECK OUT MY TITS!” But it bugs me when people say “I’m trying to do something good” but they really mean, “HEY CHECK OUT MY TITS!”

    Know what I mean?

    • Kristin – you’re right, there is no small segment of the population that truly misconstrues the message, but I like to be a purist. I have one friend who currently has mastectomy scars where here boobs once were, and I try to talk her into posting them as her avatar, regularly. She’s getting fake ones in a few weeks, and I’ll continue to try to get to to post the “now” or the “before” after the fact. Breast cancer truly is evil.

      Yeah, the people who are out purely to be looked at . . . something tells me their boobs would come out to play, regularly, if they didn’t have the #boobiewed excuse.

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