Well, THAT was a bust!

I'm STILL trying to find a bra that a) fits and b) doesn't feel like a torture device that will make me confess to shenanigans nobody needs to know about. "Ve haf vays of making you talk!" So on the advice of 2 of the 3 or so non-family members that actually read my blog (and comment!), I decided to give Frederick's of Hollywood a try. This should have been a no-brainer as Freddy's of H'wood has been providing lingerie for the large breasted woman for decades.

So off I go to one of the few malls in my neck of the woods that has a FofH and since I have no idea which end of the mall the store is located, it makes sense that I would park at the complete opposite end and have to hoof it the entire length of the mall.

I find the store and notice they do indeed have a nice selection of bras that aren't the trashy red satin bra with black lace that comes to mind when someone says "Frederick's of Hollywood." The helpful clerk asks me what I'm looking for and I tell her. And guess what? They don't carry my size. They either have the right band size but not cup size or they have the cup size but not the band size. PHAIL! Frederick's of Hollywood is a bust. I want to weep.

I dejectedly plodded back down the length of the mall (racking up those 10,000 steps!) and decide to give Macy's another shot. The last time I went to Macy's, I was trying on the wrong size so now that I knew my real size, maybe I'd have better luck.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, I found some bras that a) actually fit properly and by properly I mean that people better not get too close or they'll get an eye poked out because the F-Troops are standing at attention! and b) don't feel like a torture device that will make me confess to shenanigans that nobody needs to know about.

And the best part is, I got 2 bras for the same price that I paid for 1 of the torture devices so Ha! I win! Take THAT you ridiculously over-priced uncomfortable LeMystere bras! I smite you!

Udder frustration

Ok, so I had my Professional Bra fitting the other day and purchased 3 new bras that were Professionally fitted for my gigantic honkers. Yes, they were very expensive but they put things in the proper place so handing over my Amex wasn't that difficult and I headed home all hap-hap-happy that I *finally* have some good, well-engineered bras that *seemed* to be comfortable in the dressing room.

The Good News is, I look great! These bras are a marvel of engineering. They lift and support and are actually pretty for something so...so HUGE. The Bad News? I hate these new bras. Hate. Them. Wearing a bra in the dressing room for 1 minute does not give you an indication of how they will feel when you wear them going about your business all day. The underwire turned into a painful vice, the edges of the cups are digging into my underarms, the boning on the sides digs into both my side and my arm right at a nerve so my arms keep going numb, the stitching feels like it was sewn with fishing line and I swear there is sandpaper on the band. They are so flipping uncomfortable after wearing them for an hour that I want to scream.

Unfortunately, in a fit of optimism, I tossed all my old bras as soon as I got home with the new bras so I'm kind of screwed.

So I will have to continue in my quest for proper and COMFORTABLE support for the F-Troops, as TheManTheMyth now refers to me and my boobs.

And they say romance is dead.

Oh, yesterday we, my sister Bippy and I, took Thing 2 shopping for bras and despite the hilarity that ensued and had people outside the dressing rooms laughing when we came out, I promised her that I would not blog about it so I'm not. Besides, you really had to be there.

And speaking of Big Boobs and Celebrity Sightings, I saw retired porn star Jenna Jameson while we were shopping. I wanted to smack that bitch down. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. Girlfriend is tiny. She made Thing 2 (5'6, 95lbs) look like an Amazon. And she recently gave birth to twins. THAT'S why I wanted to bust her ass. And I have no idea why I'm talking like I'm straight outta Compton. Must be that torture device I'm wearing that's affecting my brain.

What's Under There?

If you're playing along, you will have said, "Under where?" and I will snicker to myself, "You said Underwear! Heh heh. Heh heh." Juvenile humor, yes, but it's funny to ME, dammit! And I need that humor today. Why, you ask. I'll tell you.

Today, I went shopping for something I hate, hate, HATE to go shopping for. Worse than shopping for a bathing suit, I went shopping for new bras. I knew it was time when the underwires on two of my bras decided to escape and stab me in a delicate area.

Now the reason I hate shopping for bras is because I am what you would call "Full-figured." Translation: I've got big, giant, 100% natural hooters. It's both a blessing and a curse. These days, we're leaning more toward curse than blessing. Trying to find a bra for the "Full-figured woman" that doesn't look like something you harness to a mule is a challenge. So off I go to my local higher end department store and head up to the "lingerie" department where I peruse racks upon racks (Pun intended. Heh heh.) of bras. I find several styles in my size and head to the dressing room.

I used to be paranoid about hidden cameras in dressing rooms but now, if someone is getting their jollies by looking at my pasty white sagging breasts, then bless their perverted little hearts because believe me, ain't nuthin' sexy about me these days.

Anyways. I try on the first bra. Nope. 2nd bra. Nope. Bras 3, 4 and 5. Nope, nein and nyet. 100 bras later (only a slight exaggeration), I finally tried on one that fit in the cups, the straps didn't carve into my shoulders, it was comfortable yet supportive and lifted the girls back up to where they belong. Yes, I thought, we have a winner! I'll just get several of this one, I said to myself as I preened in front of the mirror. And then I turned to see how it looked in the back and gave a shriek of horror. The skin of my back in between the straps was squeezed together so much it looked like I had some serious cleavage. You could have tucked a rose in there. And a pencil.

That was the final straw. I'd been trying on bras for over an hour and I was Done. Sadly, I know I must continue my quest before I'm reduced to rigging up some duct tape, elastic and dishtowels into a makeshift bra.

Pray for me.