The Incredible Shrinking Boyfriend

I wish I could start this by telling you that I was my boyfriend's awesome healthy role model and that I played an instrumental role as the man of my dreams became the man of his dreams, but it wouldn't be true. I wish I could tell you that I was this man's nutritionist or chef or even a workout buddy, but that wouldn't be honest either. I didn't force feed him kale or go all boot camp on his ass every morning..

All I did was fall in [unconditional] love with a boy.

years later and my face is still ridiculous. 

The man I met 6+ years ago and the man I'm currently dating look a whole lot different. He is the same humble and driven person, but people who weren't witness to Joel's revolution sometimes have a hard time recognizing him. Even to me, he almost feels like two different people. Just to be clear, I have always been and will always be attracted to Joel's body and soul. I dare someone to challenge that.

When I say my boyfriend is my hero, I always think of this specific thing. He rescues me every day, but what's more impressive is the way he has saved himself. 




I'm always baffled by just how much motivation he has. He works hard for someone else 40 hours a week and then comes home and puts the same quality of work into himself. It doesn't matter if it's 8AM on a weekend or 9PM after a 10 hour work day, he always finds ways to be active. Our home is filled with all sorts of exercise odds and ends. We have a giant yoga ball, a foam roller, weight set and a Joel size bicycle that currently occupy our living room. I feel like I'm constantly nagging him about it or trying to stack it all on top of each other to take up less room. Honestly though, not a day goes by that he's not cleared a place on the floor to use it. I think I stopped noticing how many conversations we have while he's stretching his back on the yoga ball or isolating some muscle with the barbell. I think this might be odd in most homes, but for us, it is just our life. When we travel, we stay at hotels with gyms. We make plans around the gym's basketball schedule. Joel's fitness and diet play more in our relationship than people might think. 

I think if I've done anything towards Joel reaching his goals it's that I've allowed him to be this person with these priorities. It's such a small contribution, it might not even be worth mentioning, but I never tell Joel that he shouldn't work out. That might sound stupid, but there are times when I just need my guy, but he needs to go for a run. His workout regime often makes us late for things or makes us cancel plans altogether. There are times when I'm starving for dinner, but Joel wants to go shoot the basketball for two hours before we can have meal together. I swear that gym gobbles him up from time to time. It can be frustrating, but I know it's what he needs. He's often restless and anxious if he doesn't meet (what we lovingly refer to as) his "sweat quota". I try to be a motivating as humanly possible and carry a -- 'drop everything and run' attitude for him. I bite my tongue (and hold my breath) for several days when his workout clothes are piling up. I pick up broccoli and kale  (which I think are completely inedible) when at the grocery store and even though I'm embarrassed that my home looks more like a home gym, I cannot begin to explain that pride I feel in all of it. 

Even though Joel had already lost an insane amount of weight before we started dating, at the beginning of us, every time he went to the gym, less of him came back to me. I could wrap more of my arms around him and his body (and especially his face) just became chiseled. To be honest, I couldn't keep my hands off of him. I'm struggling to keep this PG. Not only was it a new, exciting relationship, but this man was surprising me all the time. We'd climb a staircase and I would see this calf muscle and I had to touch it to make it real. I was w o r s h i p i n g him. He was getting smaller, but I could swear he was also standing taller. He all of a sudden had this jaw line that melted me and his chest became an extra firm pillow. I was learning anatomy in lecture and all of a sudden there were these giant muscles and bones sticking out his skin to study at home. This cuddly bear of a man had become this Greek God.....and he was mine. 

Joel had just finished a triathlon.

If you have ever tried to compliment Joel's successes to his face, then you know he brushes off any nice thing you could say and tries to move on as quickly as possible. I respect his humbleness, but as his girlfriend, I couldn't move on without him really knowing how proud he had made me. I needed something more than words so that I knew the message really sunk in with him. So, naturally I got on Pinterest and called our moms. (this is pretty much how I start anything nowadays) Lucky for me, Joel had been purging his closet of clothes that no longer fit him for a year or more. Every trip to Lafayette was a chance to bring a garbage bag filled with all his baggy clothes to leave at his parent's house for storage or to hand down to another family member. He was very hesitant to give up all these clothes, some of which he had had since middle school. So, I had Joel's mom start separating some of the t-shirts that had real memories attached to them away from the rest of the clothing. Once she handed over quite a large stack of shirts and the curtains that were in Joel's childhood bedroom, I got to work making a quilt. The funny part is that I thought this would just be a day project........ well like $120+ of supplies, 2 broken needles, 1 broken sewing machine, a fight between Joel and I about how much time I was spending at my parent's house, and about 24 solid hours of mentally exhausting work and  some blood, sweat and tears, I handed Joel his t-shirt quilt. 

Call me crazy, but if our house ever caught fire I'd save this thing first. 

My own mother said she'd never seen me work harder. 

I'm not sure what I intended this blanket to mean. All I knew is that my partner had put in all this work and it inspired me to put in some work to recognize his achievement. And that's really it, the best part I mean, I truly have an infinite source of motivation and inspiration to siphon off of. 

He did that thing that we all say we are going to do tomorrow.  To be attached to that, to love someone who woke up one day and said I'm going to change his  life -- and then did, is my miracle. At the end of the day, this is the person I want to spend my  life with and improving his health and making it a priority in our relationship will mean that we get more time together in the long haul. We started this relationship knowing that we can do anything. There will never be an obstacle that Joel can't overcome and he won't let me believe that I can't overcome it too. So we sweat and we grind and we put in the work that we need to and I will love him forever for setting that standard in our lives.

 The man of my dreams became the man of his dreams and to me, that is everything.

my   dream is to be this guy's running partner #goals

One of Joel's favorite songs to run to.

-that one [proud] girl(friend)

Nestucca River Round 4

After continuous, in-the-field research I've come to the conclusion that camping is good for the soul. There is something so beautiful about spending all day and night outside in nature and unplugged from the rest of the world. You wake up when the sun shines into your tent and the river pouring over the rocks becomes the background music of the day. You are without the comforts of home, but you can indulge yourself by sitting around the campfire and playing fun games to pass the time.Yes, it is good for the soul, but going on our annual Nestucca River camping trip is also so good for my heart. 

Summer 2012 was my first time camping at the Nestucca. Joel and I had secretly (another story for another day) been dating less than 2 weeks so this was also the first time I was going to meet his family. It was also only my 3rd time camping ever. So, needless to say, I was freaking out, as any girlfriend might worry when they meet their boyfriend's parents or any traditionally city girl might hesitate when going to sleep outside. However, the ante was  up'ed because I wasn't just meeting his parents. On the way to the campsite, Joel was teaching me names and general bio's of his whole family-friend tree as he navigated his stick shift car through some serious hills and around the biggest potholes I've ever seen. I rode shotgun to this rally and was desperately trying to memorize names. He kept dumping more and more onto me as we drove along... This person is married to this person and so-and-so is their kid. I was given about a dozen names during that conversation. I became completely paranoid that I was going to call Joel's mom Lora instead of Lisa and how my plan was just to not use any names the whole time I was there. 

To make matters worse, Joel was also freaking out. He hadn't exactly been bringing home his college girlfriends to meet the folks and he had never brought a girl on his family's camping trip before. Since we were dating for such a short period of time, this was kind of a big deal for a relationship that from the outside looked like a summer fling. 

Also extending this uneasy introduction, was the fact that Joel did not prepare his family to meet me either. I'm not even sure they knew he was bringing a girl at all. So just after we got there, there was a slightly awkward, harmless conversation, where Joel's mom mistook me for Joel's ex. I bit my tongue and let Joel handle it instead of telling her that I was the new girl who decided she could treat him better than the girl I was being mistaken for. This conversation was followed by me desperately trying to act like I knew how to put up a tent in front of Joel's parents, which of course I failed to do epically.

 A few hours later, camp was set up, I had been fed what can only be referred to as a gourmet camp dinner and I was feeling the effects of my first authentic shot of Absinthe that had been arranged for me by Joel's mom and dad. I was snuggled close in-between the man I was falling in love with and people that had been strangers to me just a few hours ago, laughing my head off and throwing coins into the pot of what's got to be the strangest poker game this world will ever know. I stopped caring about what I looked like and threw the idea of making a good first impression out the window. There was no hesitation to be the competitive, smart ass, ridiculous person that I had been raised to be and Joel's "second mom" called me "feisty" and said that she liked me already. I took a moment and realized that I was feeling exactly how I feel when I was with my own family. It was the same game playing, story telling atmosphere, where I could be myself, but I had literally just met these people. Crazy! 

Of course that was the moment I completely let my guard down and then two seconds later completely made a fool out of myself. 

This is the story that is told every year and even though it embarrasses me to my core, I consider it some kind of initiation process into the Nestucca gang and that, I am proud of..

So, poker night with the Brunello/Spear/Madden gang is a circus. Every hand the dealer picks a random poker variation with some outlandish name. The wildcards, number of cards dealt, studs and draws, everything changes all the time and you pretty much have to have 5 of a kind or a straight flush to win anything. Still to this day I throw coins into the pot and pray for a miracle on some hands, but most of us do, so that adds to the fun. My first night of learning all these rules was shenanigans. I had no idea what I was doing, until "Screw your Buddy" came along which is a super simple 1 card game that is loosely based on indian poker I'd say, but everyone has 3 quarters out in front of them and if their card is the lowest at the end of the game they lose a quarter until they are out of quarters. The tension builds as everyone is eliminated and it comes down to me and Joel's dad, Tony playing head-to-head. He has the advantage of having 2 quarters left while I only have 1. The first hand is dealt and I win it. At this point, I go from thinking I'm going to lose to be completely ecstatic at the possibility that I could actually take this game which is by far the longest and most expensive game we've played all night. The last card, which is the deciding factor is dealt and played and I WON! This is where I proceed to get up from the picnic table and full on run around the table in a circle, taking a victory lap.

Tony, however, is not running around the table with me. Tony has left the table though and has walked down the bank onto the dock, clearly to get away from my complete lack of respect that I had just shown. I spiraled into embarrassment as soon as I stopped running and realized how big of a mistake I had made. Who was I to show up on this man's vacation and create this huge exhibition when I beat him at his own game? I cried. It wasn't until a little later when his friends were laughing that I learned that Tony had decided much earlier that this particular game wasn't his greatest fan and him getting away from the table wasn't completely because I had shown possibly the worst sportsmanship ever to be committed during poker. He forgave me and from that day on I became forever linked to the victory lap.

Mark, DeeDee, Bill, Lora, Tony, Lisa, Joel and the luckiest girl in the world.

That night, after completely falling in love with his family, I poured my soul out to Joel in that tent that I pretended to know how to build and he held me tight and said things that I'd be waiting to hear my whole life.

Easily one of the best nights of my life.

Every year we go back to the same camp site, with the same people and every year there is a new funny story, game, delicious meal and just genuine good times from dawn to wayyyyy past dusk. We have begun a new beer pong tournament which is increasingly competitive every year, go figure. 

-2015 Beer Pong Champs-

 We also roasted cheese filled hot dogs as a super satisfying late night snack and mucked around in our rain boots this year. 

 We originally dedicated Monday night to Tuesday morning for camping this year, but on the way home from spending just that one night we decided we didn't get quite enough Nestucca and we would try to make it work so we could spend the upcoming weekend back at camp. I celebrated my mom's birthday with my family on Friday night and Joel got off work late around 10, but we packed up the car, split an energy drink and back up the mountain we went. Halfway there we realized we had forgot our poker money. It's kind of a big deal. Everyone has their unique coin holding container, but not important enough that we would turn back now. We trekked up, bummed that we might not be playing poker or we would have to buy someone else's coins. Little did we know at that time that we had actually left our coin jars there all along. While we were away all our silver coins were traded for pennies. According to Nestucca tradition this is what happens when you leave your coins behind. 

The whole prank backfired when we unexpectedly drove back into camp. Joel and I weren't mad  because we were worried we weren't going to have any coins to play with! We made them regret doing all that exchanging when we started to play poker again and started dumping hundreds of pennies into the pot and making silly ante bets like 9 cents. Even after Joel and I won a hand or two and we had silver coins to bet with we refused to use them and continued counting, stacking and dumping pennies onto them. The whole situation was absolutely hilarious to me. I couldn't stop making nonsense penny jokes and the time we took counting out pennies slowed the game down and cramped their style. I'm thinking of only playing with pennies from now on. 

So, every year right after our anniversary we go camping. Its hard for me not to become nostalgic because it marks the beginning of a new year together. This was our 4th camping trip, next will be the 4th time we celebrate our birthdays and then the 4th time I make Joel wear a ridiculous couples costume for Halloween.. Thanksgiving, Christmas.. it all seems to fly by. 

I think about how far we've come together since the first camping trip. How many hoops we've managed to jump through and how much our families have loved us and supported our relationship through progress and setbacks. 

Joel and his family are made of love that is unconditional. They brush things off that feel so heavy to me sometimes and remind me that the picture is so much bigger than the detail I'm focused on. They are some of warmest people I've ever met and I am so grateful and overwhelmed by their hospitality and how they always check in with us emotionally. Whatever happens next, however Joel and I manage to change or move forward, the time I spend at the river daydreaming about what future years at the Nestucca could look like for me has brought me so much joy and hope. It always reminds me to celebrate exactly what I have with such an amazing man and why I want to continue to build my life with him.

Happy 3 years, Joel. Thanks for sharing your extraordinary family with me and jumping into the deep end of this love thing with me.

-that one girl who now loves camping 

Goodbye, Jack.

I started to write this right after I found out we had to put Jack down. Also, right after I had finally stopped bawling my eyes out and picked myself off of my closet floor. I decided however, it was better to keep myself together at that point than to cry all over this keyboard and to be honest I have very thoughtful things to say about Jack and there wasn't anything comprehendible coming out of me that night. Better late than never, right?

More or less this is my dog's obituary: 

It was the spring before I turned 16 when we brought Jack home. 16 is of those cliche ages that changes you no matter what is actually happening in your world, but literally my whole life dramatically changed that year. Most excitedly we brought home Jack, the most concentrated form of cuteness I'd ever experienced. We carried him around in a cup towel wherever we went. I showed him off like a proud big sister and everything was going perfectly well and then..
My family did a complete 180. My brother flew the coop. He married his wife and they bought a house and took our cat, Petey, with them. I'm 100% positive that Jack was overjoyed to become the only animal in the house, but Jonny leaving meant less love and attention for Jack. This included the fantastic Japanese lessons that Jack was enrolled in to become less frequent. I always bragged that Jack was bilingual. He could sit and lay down (...most of the time) when Jon would command his attention with Japanese phrases, that sounded like nonsense to me and the rest of the family. 
Then both of my parents started new jobs. My mom at the time we got Jack worked her ass off at home (just to clarify she was in management for a technology company and not a stay-at-home mom) and my dad had become miserable after 14 years at Kaiser Permanente and was plotting how to kill his boss, but also still working his ass off. New jobs, however, meant new schedules. Mom went from puppy training and Kate chauffeuring 24/7 to getting out of her pajamas and going to work leaving Jack alone. Dad went from your basic day time shift (which he had had my whole life) to working swing shift and even doing a stint of graveyard. We can be grateful for it now, because my parents are so much happier, but at the time it was a huge adjustment and I can't imagine the abandonment baby Jack must have experienced. 

Mom also got a new car when I got my license. So pretty much we can guesstimate the age of my dog, my brother's marriage, how long my parents have been at their new jobs, how long I've been driving and how long we've had the Toyota Highlander all gauged at the same time. Sprinkle in the first ever (and only) time a boy had broken up with me, going through at least 3 different best friends that year, a crippling lesson on how to lose when you were raised to be highly competitive and you have the year of 2006 in the life of me. Coming home to Jack was a constant in a really unpredictable year. 

There are three things I have to thank Jack for. I know he won't hear me and that's okay.

First of these things is how active he made my parents. All the time people from my hometown tell me that they saw my parents and their dog walking. These were lengthy walks. According to my parents pedometers, we are talking like 6 mile walks spanning multiple zipcodes at times. Unless it was exceedingly hot or pouring down rain my parents and Jack would be out waving at all the cars that gave them the right of way at the intersections. I guarantee Jack marked his territory on more fire hydrants/telephone poles/mailboxes than the average dog. Before mom and dad started taking Jack on walks he would run sprints in the house.. around the pool table into the family room around the coffee table.. into the master bedroom (to check on mom and wrestle dad until he laughed hysterically and mom yelled at dad to stop riling him up) and then he would repeat the loop. He was also just generally naughty. After he really got into the routine of walking he mellowed out and became a much better dog. He stayed at the front door instead of running down the neighborhood and could even spend some time at parks off the leash where he would stay close and try to herd my mom and dad back together. I studied health and biology (which I refer to as death when I'm moody) in college and I can't thank Jack enough for getting my parents who are in their early 50's off the couch. I loved calling the house on a weekend morning and knowing they weren't going to answer because they were out being healthy. I think the Vitamin D helped my California girl mother be more ok with the fact she lives in Oregon and mom and dad always used the walk to catch up. I have to give Jack credit for being a healthy influence.


Secondly, and probably the most important, Jack was my mom's buddy. When I left for college my dad was still working wonky hours. Unfortunately, my mom and dad pretty much never saw each other during the workweek. Mom was a newly empty nester and her hubby wasn't around in the evening either so my mom hung onto her dog. This was the time that he and her formed a very close and unique bond. I was so glad he was always there under foot or sharing her lazyboy so she was never actually alone. She would have been absolutely fine without him, but she is a nurturer by nature and having Jack to love on and spoil became something my whole family could lean on. 
He also was the best security system. Jack would bark at any animate object to come on the property. Most people think this is SO annoying and I think what a lot of people who came to the Parker house didn't realize is that for years he kept my home alone mother safe at night. If anyone had tried to break in he would have immediately woke up and barked his head off (trust me I've tried to sneak in my house) and I know for a fact that he would have torn apart any stranger who attempted to come near my mother. He protected my mom when my dad wasn't there and proved it when he put himself in between an unleashed pitbull and her on one of their regular walks. The same dog who kept her feet warm and licked her face would have died for her. You can't replace that. You can't trust any species besides humans and canines with that kind of responsibility. My mom was the center of Jack's universe and he loved her perfectly. 

We all knew that Jack was sick. We all ignored it and convinced ourselves he was just getting old, but we were having active conversations about what it was going to be like when he left us. I was thankful that he gave us warning, but nothing could have prepared us for losing him. Everything happened so fast and immediately there was a huge hole. The house was too quiet, but we could still hear him. 

[Jack's last photo]

It took a total of 10 days for my mom to find and buy a new puppy appropriately named, Jill. I only had to push her a little. 
The last thing I have to thank Jack for is making my parents "dog people". I had to practically beg my parents to get a dog the first time and drag them to the Pet Store until they finally fell in love. Now, however, they don't want to live without a dog's love and energy in their house. They want to have a dog who is excited to see them when they get home. They want to keep having a reason to walk and go on family beach vacations. Jack completed the picture and we were all so use to having him that when there was an option to fill the hole, however differently, they went for it. 

[new baby Jill]

So many people look at dogs (or pets or kids) as just something to be responsible for. They use excuses like they cost money, get dirty, tie you down, and make messes without thinking first of the everlasting love that dogs give us. I feel sorry for those people. That doesn't mean I don't respect the huge responsibility it is to be a puppy parent, but I feel sorry that they haven't experienced how amazing it is to care for an animal and consider a dog a part of your family. 



Jack wasn't a perfect dog. Some people wouldn't even consider him a good dog. He ate 2 of my retainers. He bit my niece, the gardener, the gas station attendant. I called him a terrorist for years. My dog had an allergist. He tangoed with death on several occasions, including jumping out of a rear seat window of an SUV onto concrete.He peed everywhere and humped the same disgusting stuffed duck for his entire life. I loved him though and we weren't perfect either, but he loved us too.

Miss you buddy.

-that one girl who loved her dog

Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles

PS. Jack was cremated and is buried under the oak tree in my parents back yard with his girlfriend, the duck. 

Why my Mother is NOT my best friend..

This is not an angry post, in fact quite the opposite. My whole life my mother has told me that she is not my friend. Ouch, right? Wrong. I'm no longer envious of parent/child relationships that label themselves as "best friends". My mother is not my best friend. I have a best friend. She has a best friend. In fact, we've probably been through several, if not dozens of, "best friends" throughout our lives.  My mom is irreplaceable and more than my best friend. Out of respect for her and the boundaries we have I will never call her that. My mom is my protector, my investor, my counsel, teacher, inspiration and cheerleader. I combine all of those things and call her "mom" and I don't call anyone else her title. There is nothing I have ever needed that she hasn't provided me and she has dedicated so much of her life to not only keeping me alive, but pushing me to be an independent, driven and capable human being. 

On top of making my brother and I functioning adults, I cannot begin to tell you the lengths that she has gone to to provide happiness. The home I grew up in is stuffed to the brim with games and puzzles and musicals and Disney movies and they never just sat there. Our kitchen is not just the place where my mother makes her famous salsa, but also the place where we show off our best dance moves and "cheers" every success that my family achieves. It is a house filled with love and giggles and hugs and kisses because of her. 

I see it like this, if she's mean or lets me down, or more likely I do something to disappoint her, it's not like I can just go out and find a replacement. There is no one (except my dad) who has been with me since minute 1, worked 40+ hours a week to provide a life for me, answered the phone at any hour I need her.. this list goes on and on. A friend doesn't carry an agenda into your relationship. My mother's job is to be constantly trying to teach me things and help me grow as a person. At no time should a best friend be worried that you need to learn your multiplication tables. A best friend doesn't stay up at night worried about your safety or your grades, 
but she did. 

At multiple points, we've both wanted to run away. My mother had a strange obsession with driving to New Mexico in a Miata and waiting tables. I think when times got hard, and trust me I didn't make it easy, it may have been fun to think about if she had made different choices. She dreamt about sunshine when it was probably pouring down rain in Oregon and a quiet childless life, when the dishes were piled up and I was refusing to eat dinner. The reality is that parents leave their children every day and some stay and choose to harm their kids instead of help them. Good parents are so very underrated. 

The most we've gone is a couple weeks without speaking, but we always talked it out and forgave because there was never another option. There is no circumstance where she is not my mom and I am not her daughter and that makes our relationship unconditional, consistent and lifelong and just so inherently better than a best friend.

Of all the endless things that my mother does for me, the greatest of these things is loving my dad. It didn't take a village to raise me, it took two people who truly love each other. Individually they are role models, but being an extremely bias product of their relationship, I can honestly say it is the strongest relationship I've ever witnessed. They rely on each other, trust each other and when shit hits the fan, they stay and work it out. Their 30+ year commitment to each other is the cornerstone of my family and been the strongest example of what love really is for me. 

Every year on my birthday, my mother sits me down and tells my birth story. Its so so cheesy and very personal for me. Long story short, there is a seven year difference between my brother and me. My parents didn't think they would have another baby, but when their Goddaughter was born my mom and dad decided they needed a little girl of their own. (Thanks Bre!) The most important thing she always says in the story is that I was wanted. I was prayed for and wished for and prepared for. Our family was complete when I came into the world. She also commentates on how she was relieved when she found out that I could be layered in pink and that she would have a shopping buddy for life (this was before the "gender reveal days") and dad went straight to protector mode and kept asking about the color of my under oxygenated skin. 

The moral of my story is that I am incredibly blessed to have been made and raised by them.

So, yes, my mother is a wonderful human being. She is beautiful and extraordinary. I truly enjoy spending time with her. Since we share DNA, it stands to reason that we have quite a bit in common. She is brilliant and my definition of class. I trust her taste of books, movies, fashion, and pretty much everything. She has given me more than I could ever repay. She is my go-to. She is my problem solver. 

She is not my best friend. 

She is my mom. 

Mom and I sang this one on the way to elementary school.

I love you mom. -that one girl

Tits McGee

It's recently come to my attention again that I have a chance to advocate for women in my life so here we go. This is going to get personal. 

I've decided to use as many slang words for breasts as I can-- just to jazz it up a bit.

This September will be 4 years since I had my breast reduction. I went from a 32G to a 32D. I told a conservative doctor to be conservative, so yes I am still pretty big by people's standards, but I am pleased with my results overall and the first thing I tell people is that it is the best decision I've ever made for myself. In hindsight, I think it was a pretty big decision to make for a girl who just turned 21 and there were so many doubts that I had at the time. 

I struggled with the fact that I was choosing to alter who God made me. I always felt like they were there for a reason or to teach me a lesson and I didn't know when I would be done learning. I find comfort now in the fact that choosing to have plastic surgery taught me so much about how to advocate for my own health and how differently people are treated based on their weight (or even where that weight is stored). It baffles me that the precise removal of 3lbs really impacted my life the way it has. 

I also battled the feeling that I was losing a part of my identity. My breasts were a family trait. It is a physical characteristic that at least the past 3 generations of my family has dealt with (my poor future daughter) and even though I desperately wanted to be flat chested, that wasn't how my family looked. But more than that, it was how people described me and even what they called me. High school was a sonofabitch with those things. I remember my boyfriend sophomore year telling me that when he told his friend that he was dating "Katie Parker" the friend stuck out his outstretched hands a foot in front of his own chest and then twirled his fingers around his head to describe my curly hair and asked "that Katie Parker?" and then another boy I really liked decided to call me "Tits McGee" for 3 years. What a sick and twisted world I lived in that I thought it was a pet name. I was constantly struggling between wanting to "flaunt what my mama gave me" and constantly covering up and smothering them. 

A very private moment with my bestie in our apartment. Truth is it didn't matter what we wore or if we brought attention to them. People were aware of our fantastic cleavage. Men were intrigued. Women were silently jealous of something we never chose for ourselves. 

I qualified for surgery based on just how large they were and lying out my ass about back pain. I was uncomfortable some days and I believe that most women huge knockers will be in more pain than the average woman. For me personally, the emotional pain was a lot more severe than the actual pain I experienced both before and post surgery. My truth is I thought surgery would fix everything. I think it is very similar to how overweight people might think that Gastric Bypass is going to solve all their problems. I thought I would become this marathon runner and find a man who genuinely loved me for me and my clothes would fit awesome and my self esteem would soar through the clouds. Blah, Blah, Blah. 

R E A L  T A L K :

I came up from anesthesia hysterically crying that I was never going to find a husband without my sweater monsters. I completely blacked out for the next 4 days and recently found out I treated my mother (the best caretaker in the world) like shit during those days. I couldn't wear a real bra for 6 weeks. I had to sleep on my back and keep my elbows locked to my waist for the same time. I have more scars than you probably imagine and they were purple for the better part of 3 years. I have actually talked heavy-chested women out of getting the surgery with my scars. 

I guess Aidan and several others visited me in the hospital, but I have no recollection of talking to anyone or taking these pictures. WEIRD.

When I gain weight- guess where it goes?! The first time I got a treadmill was amazing and I literally remember jumping in-between each pace, just because it felt so gosh darn good. However, after those first few bouncy jogs, it just was jogging. It still sucked. Although I am a lot more comfortable running, that doesn't mean I'm going to be motivated by my slightly smaller "meat puppets". Even the guy who loves me for who I am wishes he could have seen "the real me" and I can't blame him for that because I beg him almost every day to just let his beard grow and grow! I guess I'm into the natural look too.  Almost every time I told a guy I had a breast reduction he asked me "Why I slapped God in the face?" and most women if they can't relate ask if I could just pump my excess breast tissue into them. 

People ask me for my fat ALL THE TIME and I use to think it was repulsive. 

It took me a    l   o   n   g    time to understand why women wanted bigger tits. I couldn't comprehend why women would wear push-up or even padded bras. I spent almost 10 years wanting to look like every one else and shuck and disguise what other people were mimicking. It wasn't until I spent some time trying to talk one of the most attractive women I know out of her boob job, that I finally understood that if I was entitled to go to extraordinary measures to be happy with my fun bags than she was too. 

For the record: She looks fucking fantastic and I can't and won't stop staring at her perfect chesticals. 

 Even though we had exactly the opposite course of treatment I think we both knew what would be best for us. I don't think it's a problem of wanting what the other had or that "the grass is always greener on the other side". It's so much bigger than that. 

Bre and I and our perfect boobs.

If you or anyone you might know, is thinking about changing their milk factories, please send them my way. I've coached a few girls through their own procedures now and I think it's important to ask the personal questions before scheduling anything. Trust me, once you request a referral- it all moves pretty quick from there. 

enjoy your own milkshakes- that one girl (with the big boobs)

Girls in Pearls.

 Women of the world! 

Do yourself a favor and put on every pearl you own at the same time. Drape them one after the other shamelessly. Wear as many accessories as you'd like and pair them with any outfit you'd like. And if anyone has the audacity to ask you what you are wearing, please feel free to answer "Whatever the fuck I feel like" and if that is to colorful for you or you feel you may need more explanation, answer "Because I am a Woman and I am ______" (beautiful, fabulous, powerful, amazing, lovely, flawless).

If it's not working for you, if it doesn't make you feel confident, change it. Change the whole damn look until you look in the mirror and can't help but think "damnnnn". And I don't mean perfection, because let's face it, everything they say about it is true. I'm tired of women, myself included, looking in the mirror and thinking "this is as good as it's gonna get". False, you are fucking awesome and every little thing you put on your body, from your eyeliner to sweatpants that are 2 sizes too big, is awesome by association. 

Too often, I see the possibilities that come with being a girl as pressure. 

Too often, I think I have to wear the perfect color nail polish to match an outfit, when really it's just awesome that the tips of my fingers can be any color I can dream of. 

Too often, I worry about getting my bangs cut just right, when really I live in a world with infinite hair options. Have you been on Pinterest? How in the world can I justify worrying about something that, by definition, is limitless? The worst hair day could lead to the best, new, bold, hairdo, cut or color choice.  

Too often, I feel like I can't wear that dress, because my hair isn't straightened or those jeans because the rain jacket I have to wear will make my whole outfit look baggy. Yes, I realize this all sounds insane, but I think its normal to make rules and standards for ourselves. The other day I told my cousin that I couldn't pull off a horizontal striped dress while I was currently wearing a horizontally striped shirt. I looked down at my own t-shirt and thought "really, Kate?". Since when did I stop playing dress up and start making blatantly ridiculous boundaries about what is okay for me to wear? 

Yea, fuck that. 

Story time: Probably close to 10 years ago, I bought (okay, my mom bought) a very expensive leather jacket from Buckle right when it first opened, but before leather jackets made their revival. So pretty much this jacket, that I loved from the moment I saw it, just sat in my closet because I had all these ideas that I wasn't edgy enough to pull it off, or I didn't have the right outfit to match. Every time I worked up the nerve to wear it out, someone would make a comment and I was extremely sensitive, even when someone would just point out the fact that I was wearing a leather jacket. I would take it off quickly after it made an entrance. My own insecurities are such a kill joy.

It wasn't until literally EVERYONE was wearing leather that I was comfortable enough to rock what I had been trying on over and over for years. 

But now, 3+ years later I am still rocking this leather jacket. I've had it for 10 years and I guarantee I will be actually wearing it for another 10. It taught me such a valuable lesson. That being, if something makes me feel good, I'm not going to let anyone, especially myself, change that happiness.  

That being said, we need to stop judging people for wearing platform heels to Starbucks or tattooing their whole bodies or piercing more than just their ears or wearing turtlenecks and long denim skirts. People make decisions about what to put on their bodies every day and I think they pick and choose based on who they are or what makes them feel good. I wish we lived in a world that wasn't made up of other peoples' opinions, but the truth is other peoples nasty looks and words can stunt or even cripple a persons unique style. Just because it doesn't make you happy, doesn't give you the right to take away someone else's happiness. My point being, don't be the person that makes that makes someone feel like they should take off their leather jacket. It's just an object on a human being that should not be objectively critiqued. 

Be who you are, because you are fucking beautiful.

 -that one girl. 

"She is unstoppable"

Pearl by Katy Perry

Before Katy sold her artistic soul to make more money. I swear if I hear one more artist tell me "I just want to make people dance with my next album" I'm gonna barf all over the place.