Busty Girl Problems

I’m kind of in love with Busty Girl Comics.  They’re just so funny because they’re so true.  And relatable and wonderful and relevant.

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And the timing of this post is absolute perfection because the bras I ordered after combing through the Busty Girl tumblr for a few days finally came in today.  Bras that ACTUALLY FIT!!

 
  

And I so appreciate how the artist, Paige Halsey Warren, keeps her characters so diverse.  She draws girls, young and old, from all different ethnic backgrounds and of all different sizes, orientations, and etc.  She draws stretch marks and underarm hair, and doesn’t avoid TMI boob issues that may make male readers uncomfortable.  She doesn’t strictly draw prefect itty bitty women who meet Western standards of beauty.

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Three Moments and a Dream

I saw two first years walking up the stairs so I said “hello” and “see you.”  Little Koudai replied, “See you, baby,”  then turned to his friend and said, “Hellooo, bay-bay.”  Cute.

The first years were introduced to ginger Kevin the basketball player in the textbook last month.  The second we turned the page:

“Wow, Kevin’s cool!”
“It’s likely that Becky likes Ichiro, but Ichiro likes Sakura.  But then Sakura likes Kevin.”
“Wrong. Sakura and Ichiro are dating, but Kevin ….”

Of course, all this was in Japanese and coming from boys.

I’d been having trouble with a handful of my 3rd year boys. One in particular, N., told me to go to hell every time I saw him without fail. And without fail, I threatened to tell the principal that he was being very rude. I recently snapped and finally told my vice principal what was going on. N. was brought into the staff room and he denied everything. But of course, all his classmates ‘fessed up and told the truth.

He had to bow and apologize to everyone for wasting their time and to me for his actions.

A few nights after that, I met my drunk VP and disciplinary teacher (S-sensei) on the way home from Tsutaya. They told me they were sorry about what happened and as I biked away, S-sensei shouted, “N. GOES TO HELL.” And the two laughed as they drunkenly stumbled away.

And just some BG info; I have a dream log that I record substantial-enough dreams in. It’s usually written very hastily right after waking up so my entries tend to be all over the place. I’m surprised that the spelling is as good as it is. But okay:

Lucid-ish dream. In an underground expressway train thing with dad and someone and I realize that this is a dream when we get off and start fighting like Brad Pitt and some lady goons. Go back home and prepare a battle plan to go out and fight again. It’s some wedding and “brother” recognizes some hag in black and is convinced tonight is the night. We aren’t prepapered (well only I am) so we go inside to pack our bags. “Little sister” puts like three ET dolls in the bag and I chuck two out. Look at other “sister’s” clothes choices and edit (let her borrow my black one with gold polka dots on the skirt). Looked for swiss army knife. Grandma hollers for us to eat before we leave and suddenly there are fireworks outside. And the baked potatoes that are burning hot float towards the door and there’s the hag lady there too. I grabbed them and crushed them by the hands bc I knew it was a dream. Then I turned on the lady and started choking her but it turned out she was a dummy. I twisted and crushed her and then showed her to the group. It’s time to leave. I had some designer Tommy Hilfiger dress for no reason.

How to Cook A Husband: The Aunt Stella’s Bag Tells All

I have recently become unhealthily obsessed with Aunt Stella’s cookies. I mean, a different bunch of flavors every time I go??

I. Am. There.

But anyway, the Aunt Stella’s paper bags have fake articles printed on them with titles like “A Recipe to Live By” and “Household Remedies of 1909,” which is chock full of words like burdock root and horehound wild cherry bark. But the best article by far sits right between “The Sky Tells Them Much” (on seafarers and weather prediction) and “The Clouds” (about, well, clouds). And here it is:

How to Cook A Husband

A good many husbands are utterly spoiled by mismanagement. Some women keep them constantly in hot water; others let them freeze by their carelessness and in-difference. Some keep them in a stew by irritating ways and words. Others roast them; some keep them in a pickle all their lives. It cannot be supposed that any husband will be tender and good managed in this way, but they are really delicious when properly treated.

In selecting your husband you should not be guided by the silvery appearance, as in buying mackerel, nor by the golden tint, as if you wanted salmon. Be sure and select him yourself, as tastes differ. Don’t go to the market for him, as the best are always brought to your door. It is far better to have none unless you know how to cook him.

A preserving kettle of the finest porcelain is best, but if you have nothing but an earthenware pipkin, it will do, with care. See that the linen in which you wrap him is nicely washed and mended, with the required number of buttons and strings nicely sewed on. Tie him in the kettle by a strong silk cord called comfort, as the one called duty is apt to be weak and they are apt to fly out of the kettle and be burned and crusty on the edges, since like crabs and lobsters, you have to cook them alive.

Make a clear, steady fire out of love, neatness, and cheerfulness. Set him as near this as seems to agree with him. If he sputters and fizzles, do not be anxious; some husbands do this till they are quite done. Add a little sugar in the form of what confectioners call kisses, but no vinegar or pepper on any account; a little spice improves them, but it must be used with judgment. Do not stick any sharp instruments into him to see if he is becoming tender. Stir him gently; watch the while, lest he lie flat and too close to the kettle, and so become useless. You cannot fail to know when he is done. If thus treated you will find him very digestible, agreeing nicely with you and the children, and he will keep as long as you want, unless you become careless and se him in too cold a place.

This was published in 1910 by the Home Mission Society of the Moravian Church.

Bon appétit!

List #3

I have a baby name spreadsheet.  I started it almost a decade ago when I was bored and haven’t looked at it in ageessss.  And I have no idea what whimsical, pretentious, self-hating phase I was going through, but I am in tears over how horrible some of these names are.