Saturday, August 20, 2011

A Tale Of Two Titties: This Ain't for The Kids.

Friends keep asking, "Can we see 'em?"

I keep promising that in some measure, an unveiling of the twins will happen. I guess I could totally skirt it and just wait until I have a gig, get a stage shot or two, or a few pics with me and other comics like I do at EVERY show and lay out a generic "The boobs are in this photo...." caption and be done.

However, I am an attention whore.

And I don't play unfair with people who have been fair with me.

A lot of you have been riding this out with me since the start of it.

You heard my jokes at a show and started to follow me on Facebook, perhaps?

You messaged me about something about YOU that makes you a little crazy, and we bonded in some way.

Maybe you knew me before I HAD boobs of ANY kind and feel you should be "grandfathered" in on a full frontal flash of the new tits simply because you've had to hear about this shit for DECADES and you have EARNED it?


I've been overwhelmed at the outpouring of support I've received through this journey.

I'm actually in process now of taking "healing" photos at home.

I'll figure out what to do with all the pictures I have, and in what measure I decide to share.

I respect the fascination at a level that isn't sexual, and I believe that is the case for the majority of people who have latched on to my story. I mean, we all love tits. Even straight women and gay men love boobies. Beyond that though is that side-show-freak-fascination.... It peaks our curiosity when something is out of the norm.

My old boobs? WAY out of the norm, and I've done well to uncover that 'secret' that I used to PRAY no one would see in the middle school locker rooms of painful adolescence. I penned comedy material to "out" myself as a freak, not because I wanted pity or even understanding for myself. I did it so other people with their own issues would see we're not alone, we all have fucked up issues, and damn it.... find the funny in it before it friggin' kills you.

Many times the self loathing and hatred of my own body damn near did ME in on an emotional level that is almost embarrassing to admit. "Love Yourself" sounds great, it's easy to say, but no one has perfected the art of doing so and keeping it always. Self love -- the hallmark kind, not the Playboy kind -- is fleeting and tricky. We KNOW that our surface is just packaging, and what is in our hearts, minds, and souls is what makes us who we are.

But I dare to call "BULLSHIT!" on anyone who says it's NOT flattering to be noticed for our physical selves. Being whistled at. Turning a stranger's eye to you, even for a second. FEELING like you COULD, even if it doesn't happen. It's natural to want to feel sexy. Our species hinges on sex.

When the parts of you that make you sexy are all screwed up? It has an affect on you. And you want to buy in to the perfectly imperfect ideal -- you want to believe the product you sell -- but even those of us who have come to terms with who we are still have dark days, moments of loathing....


I'm rambling again. Lost in deep thought here.


Right now, several days post-op, I'm still getting to know my own body. My reflection has drastically changed. I am not the woman I was at the start of this week. In theory I am: My mind is the same, as is the heart and soul. Just the outer shell has been changed, right?
Yeah, no.
SO fucking wrong.
I'm slowly relaxing into my new shell, like a snail. ha!

I know now when I go to get ready for my next show I'm not going to have to make sure my "show bra" is clean. Yeah, I had ONE bra here lately that was sturdy enough to hold the right side stuffing, and had to wear it at every damn show. I won't have to worry about that any more.

I went to my Mom's today, wearing a sport's bra under my shirt.
She hadn't seen me yet, and asked, "Well, how do you feel?"
I showed her my bra. "Look what I can wear now."
My Mom's eyes welled up a bit. She understood in that moment what just ended for me.

Once I get my mind around all the photos I have, I'll share, and you guys can get a better idea of it all, too.

Thanks for the emotional support. The well wishes. The care you've extended. Thank you to those who realize this isn't just some chick who wanted a boob job, but that the journey was far greater.

Thanks for being YOU.

1 comment:

  1. Perfect! But still perfectly, imperfect!

    ReplyDelete