Ramblings: Tiger Woods & Zombie Fire Ants

- Note to MPR and other respectable news sources:  Drop the Tiger Woods stories already.  It’s almost as painful as continuous Sarah Palin coverage.  I am so tired of hearing about the poor “vulnerable” women (the MPR story was about how they are both poor and vulnerable, or vulnerable because they’re poor, or waitresses because they’re vulnerable.  Isn’t one an executive?)  Is it that difficult to imagine there are five six seven women out there who wanted to sleep with Tiger Woods?  And please spare me the whining.  A quote from The Washington Post: “If adultery is really about the power and satisfaction of conquest, Woods’s self-esteem was apparently only boosted by bedding the kind of woman he thought other men lusted after.”  OR he actually lusted after them

Having said all that I am now going to contribute to the problem by posting this link to the Tiger Woods Voicemail Slow Jam Remix.

- Another filling today.  Take it from me, FLOSS PEOPLE.

- Whose brilliant idea is it to release mass quantities of insects into the environment?   Our house is infested annually by giant ladybugs which were released to combat the giant aphids.  Did we learn nothing from Jurassic Park?  Hello – life will find a way.  Learn from us, Texas.  Zombie Fire Ants – Maybe Not Such A Great Idea.

- Oh those goofy Germans… Berlin paper installs sculpture “endowed with a massive penis that stretches the height of the building.” I highly recommend the slide show.

- Just right now this very moment I found out that Enya is not a man.  Apparently I had never seen an Enya commercial before and just pictured him (her) as a young David Copperfield.  Hmmm, I guess I wasn’t so far off.

Why I prefer “boobs” over “breasts”.

Recently a friend told a story involving a woman he had hit on at a bar.  While describing her revealing outfit he used the word “breasts.”  I remember it was an awkward moment – not because he was talking about her cleavage, but because of the self-conscious pause before he said the word, as if he was searching for the appropriate term to say in front of women friends (which is kind of hilarious considering he didn’t think twice about telling us the lewd story to begin with).  He was obviously uncomfortable saying Breasts and it got me thinking that I don’t really care for the word either and rarely use it.

I don’t remember what slang we used in high school – I’m sure my Midwestern circle of friends avoided the embarrassing topic as much as possible. There wasn’t much to say about my AA-cups anyway.   Later, in my  early 20s, I adopted Tits.  I felt Tits was an appropriate description of my perky As, and was fun to say.  I was definitely uncomfortable with the anatomically correct Breasts.   Breasts had a lot of weight.  They were mature and I was not.  Breasts feed for crying out loud – my bee stings were hardly more than glorified nipples.

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Breasts seemed to me to be the opposite of anything sexy or fun. Anita Hill was testifying before Congress about listening to discussions at work about pornography and “large breasts.”   Breasts were something that got harassed.   They could potentially be fondled – another word with only creepy uncomfortable connotations.

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Moving into my late 20s and a B-cup, I stopped saying Tits and began to prefer Boobs instead.  The strange thing is I don’t really like the word Boobs.  It’s not an elegant word – it’s silly and goofy, which I suppose is kind of how I felt about my boobs.  I finally had all I’d ever wanted – actual cleavage! But the thrill of buying something other than a triangle bra quickly wore off when I realized I could no longer just throw on anything in the Juniors department.   But Boobs is a happy sounding word too and over time I’ve grown comfortable with it and my bouncy boobs.

What I still haven’t grown to like is Breasts.  In fact, my associations with that word have become more negative over time.  Breasts get cancer.  Breasts have lumps.  I think it is not a stretch to say that I am confronted daily with that very specific shade of pink and its shouted reminder.  I’m not suggesting the elimination of the word – it would be quite strange to be asked by a nurse practitioner how often I do a Self Ta Ta Exam.  But the ever-present awareness campaign certainly removes the fun from the Funbags.

Last but not least, the use of the word Breasts that most annoys me is the most mundane.  That would be pertaining to chickens.  Chickens and chicken advertisements.  Plump Breasts! Healthy. Natural. Perfectly Portioned. White.

It’s not just all the specifications for the perfect Breast that irritates me – it is the implied ownership.  Chickens (with their tender, juicy breasts) are the property of a farmer, who in American folklore is a man.  They are owned and sold.  Not my rack, sister.

Now that I’m in my mid-30s astoundingly, amazingly, I wear a C-cup.  I still use Boobs most of the time, but have also started referring to my bust as The Girls.

This is something my DD friends have always done.  Now I get why – The Girls have a life of their own and will not be ignored.  Often I have to hold them to run down stairs.  Sometimes I can’t even sleep without a bra, a concept I couldn’t have fathomed back when I was a card carrying member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.  Gone are the glorious AA days of running around in just a tank-top.  I didn’t know how good I had it.

What I need is a word somewhere in between the goofiness of Boobs and the seriousness of Breasts.  Until then I guess it’s just me and The Girls.  They may make it more difficult to pick a swim suit, but I now look great in a sweater.  Not to mention purchasing lingerie is much more rewarding.

And finally, to all those mean girls who made fun of me for having a chest as flat as a waterboard:

How do you like them apples?

Ode to Firefox

Ode to Firefox

By SaraToday

O Jessie

A year has come and gone since you first switched to Firefox.

You mentioned it once but didn’t push,

Perhaps sensing my hesitancy.

I declined; didn’t even look into it.

Said, “Self, I’ve always used Internet Explorer.”

‘Twas the worst of human nature –

Fear of change,

Clinging to the old ways.

Squinty-eyed folded-armed suspicion.

Even with the neo-hippiness of my long-past college days

I didn’t believe something created by many people for free

could be as good as something made by a company for profit.

Shame, shame, for shame.

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Then recently I was encouraged

And somewhat pressured

By a man in black aptly named Code.

I took the plunge.

I pressed Download.

Import Favorites.

Keep my previous homepage.

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Wha… ?  It’s subtly faster –

Oh.  Oh look how quickly it opens images.

Ooooohhhhh.

And, it … asks me questions.  So many options!

Do I want to save and reopen these tabs next time? YES YES YES!

Open Source I embrace thee!

Like Free Range and Co-Op and CommonWealth.

Like the wireless woven web itself

we are supported by

this quiet glue of many minds at work.

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And I feel so hip with the pretty little world in my toolbar.

Cool beans.  Cool beans.