This one's fo tha ladies.
Ladies, my life has been forever changed this summer with the purchases of two items.
Each is not without its faults, but the significant positive effects these items have had on my body-specifically my ta tas & my hoo-ha (btw, if you have neither of those, you may not want to continue reading; however, if you plan to get one or the other, or both, or plan to be in a relationship with someone who has one or both, you'll thank me later)-have been revolutionary.
Item One: The perfect-fit, unfortunately printed strapless bra
For my size, my ta-tas are...welll...I need a bra, plain and simple. I'm not huge, but I'm no spring chicken (or Kristin from The Hills, or whoever you can think of with under-C-cups that stay perky sans bra).
I have hunted for the perfect strapless bra for YEARS. Every time I've gotten one, one or more of the following happens:
Here is my only issue with the bra:
It happens to be leopard-printed.
The thing about strapless bras is that they are NOT sexy lingerie. You don't wear a strapless bra if you are in a baby-making mood. They aren't sexy. The black strapless dress over the bra? That's sexy. But you pretty much want to avoid the sighting of the bra if you're trying to get you some. This is why I am confused as to why they'd Snooki up my boobies with a leopard print when standard black, white, or nude would work perfectly (yes, I have approximately two strapless bras in each of those colors).
Now, the leopard print wouldn't be so bad if those clothing items requiring a strapless bra would stay put. However, they do not stay put. They tend to sink lower than the northernmost tip of my Snooki bra.
Because I am not a professional strapless-clothing-wearer (having had so many instances of failure in my past with the strapless bras), I got all excited when I found this functional bra, and bought about $200 in strapless fashions. I had always assumed that my strapless fashions went south because my bra was pulling them in that general direction.
I was wrong.
So, it's a mixed bag. I love my bra, but I also look like I am harboring a small cheetah under my dress when my dress or shirt has started moving south.
That, or Snooki and J-Woww are hiding under there.
Item Two: The diva cup
OOOoooooo, ladies. Let me just tell you: The red-soled platform pump? The Chico's 3/4 sleeve sweater? The crisp linen shirt?
Poop on them.
THIS is the must-have item of 2010. And 2011. And 2012. And every year until you hit menopause.
This, THIS....
is the DIVA CUP.
I had heard of the Diva Cup about a year ago, but only got to talking about it with some lady friends (and a very-comfortable-with-himself-man-friend, who actually happens to not like vaginas sexually) over wine and cheese the other night. I don't remember exactly how we began discussing how we stuff up our hoo-has so as to avoid leakage, but I brought up this Diva Cup thingee, and my one friend went nuts.
"It's the best thing ever!" she proclaimed. "It's so easy, so clean, it's, like, the BEST thing ever. I'm never going back."
Basically, it's a cup. It's placed in the va-jay-jay during our fave time of the month, and catches all of Aunt Flo's deposits. After a few hours, it's emptied, and re-inserted.
No trash. No awkward strings hanging out of your bathing suit. No smell. No proof of your period outside of your body whatsoever.
And, BONUS: You get to have the most hilarious story about your first experience taking it out.
After K's rant about this, I knew I had to get it. I was heading to the beach and it just seemed like the natural solution to all the concerns I had above (rogue string, etc.). I found mine at The Natural Market in Timonium; Whole Foods and some other crunchy-granola stores sell it too. It costs $30-40 depending where you get it (so it's actually cheaper than feminine hygiene products over the course of a year or so).
Now, my major concern had been, "What happens when you take it out? Doesn't it....spill?"
Even K had said the first few times were awkward. But, like tampons, it takes some getting used to. (If you have worn a tampon and remember the first time you used one, you'll know what I'm talking about. Holy hell, those bi*ches hurt the first time they go in and come out. I'm pretty sure there was a day in 9th grade when I wore one half-in all day, and wondered why it hurt so bad to sit down. ANNNYYYYhotperiodmess......)
I got it in. PERFECT. Felt like I didn't even have anything in. Now, granted, this is not something you wanna do in a work stall. You actually don't want to deal with the Diva Cup anywhere other than a personal bathroom WITH a sink near the toilet. My theory is that it's called the Diva Cup because you need to be a Diva and demand your own bathroom when attending to it.
So, a few hours go by. I forget I have it in! I high-five K when I see her, proclaiming "I got it! It's in right now!" And she said, "Me too!" (And then I silently prayed, please let us both have washed our hands well....)
It came time to take it out, in the comfort of my own home bathroom. Now, here's the thing: Nothing sticks out of the Diva Cup from your cooch entrance, which means everything's inside.
Which means....
Things are slippery.
Which means...
It's hard to grip it to get it out.
Which means....
I ended up laughing and trying to MacGuyver it out of myself for a good 10 minutes. LTR Shim must've thought I was dropping the mega-deuce of the century (not that girls poop, if you're a man still unfortunately reading this).
I decided to push and try to dry off the tip (to make it grippable) with a little piece of toilet paper. I then decided that the only way to REALLY make it dry and grippable was to do the unthinkable:
I fanned my va-jay-jay.
Finally, I got enough grippage (nails sort of help, too, ladies) and pulled it out. Not the prettiest of scenes, but definitely more pleasant than coming home to find a used tampon in the middle of your bed, gifted to you by your disgusting dog.
All evidence of your monthly visitor is flushed down the toilet within a minute, and you get it back up there and are ready to take on the world in your Snooki bra.
So those are my life-changing items of Summer 2010. And if you're a man and made it all the way through this, well, props to you.
Each is not without its faults, but the significant positive effects these items have had on my body-specifically my ta tas & my hoo-ha (btw, if you have neither of those, you may not want to continue reading; however, if you plan to get one or the other, or both, or plan to be in a relationship with someone who has one or both, you'll thank me later)-have been revolutionary.
Item One: The perfect-fit, unfortunately printed strapless bra
For my size, my ta-tas are...welll...I need a bra, plain and simple. I'm not huge, but I'm no spring chicken (or Kristin from The Hills, or whoever you can think of with under-C-cups that stay perky sans bra).
I have hunted for the perfect strapless bra for YEARS. Every time I've gotten one, one or more of the following happens:
- The bra travels south within an hour of it being put on.
- My under-boobie region looks as if piranhas snacked on it from the chafing that takes place.
- We won't talk about those dumb, uncomfortable clear plastic strap options. Those are not options for me. Tacky-tastic. Yes, I tried them. I ended up using them as slingshots by the end of the night--and the slingshotted item was my strapless bra (slingshotted to the bartender at Hon Bar...o Wine Night....)
- It makes my boobs look like one big Uniboob.
Here is my only issue with the bra:
It happens to be leopard-printed.
The thing about strapless bras is that they are NOT sexy lingerie. You don't wear a strapless bra if you are in a baby-making mood. They aren't sexy. The black strapless dress over the bra? That's sexy. But you pretty much want to avoid the sighting of the bra if you're trying to get you some. This is why I am confused as to why they'd Snooki up my boobies with a leopard print when standard black, white, or nude would work perfectly (yes, I have approximately two strapless bras in each of those colors).
Now, the leopard print wouldn't be so bad if those clothing items requiring a strapless bra would stay put. However, they do not stay put. They tend to sink lower than the northernmost tip of my Snooki bra.
Because I am not a professional strapless-clothing-wearer (having had so many instances of failure in my past with the strapless bras), I got all excited when I found this functional bra, and bought about $200 in strapless fashions. I had always assumed that my strapless fashions went south because my bra was pulling them in that general direction.
I was wrong.
So, it's a mixed bag. I love my bra, but I also look like I am harboring a small cheetah under my dress when my dress or shirt has started moving south.
That, or Snooki and J-Woww are hiding under there.
Item Two: The diva cup
OOOoooooo, ladies. Let me just tell you: The red-soled platform pump? The Chico's 3/4 sleeve sweater? The crisp linen shirt?
Poop on them.
THIS is the must-have item of 2010. And 2011. And 2012. And every year until you hit menopause.
This, THIS....
is the DIVA CUP.
I had heard of the Diva Cup about a year ago, but only got to talking about it with some lady friends (and a very-comfortable-with-himself-man-friend, who actually happens to not like vaginas sexually) over wine and cheese the other night. I don't remember exactly how we began discussing how we stuff up our hoo-has so as to avoid leakage, but I brought up this Diva Cup thingee, and my one friend went nuts.
"It's the best thing ever!" she proclaimed. "It's so easy, so clean, it's, like, the BEST thing ever. I'm never going back."
Basically, it's a cup. It's placed in the va-jay-jay during our fave time of the month, and catches all of Aunt Flo's deposits. After a few hours, it's emptied, and re-inserted.
No trash. No awkward strings hanging out of your bathing suit. No smell. No proof of your period outside of your body whatsoever.
And, BONUS: You get to have the most hilarious story about your first experience taking it out.
After K's rant about this, I knew I had to get it. I was heading to the beach and it just seemed like the natural solution to all the concerns I had above (rogue string, etc.). I found mine at The Natural Market in Timonium; Whole Foods and some other crunchy-granola stores sell it too. It costs $30-40 depending where you get it (so it's actually cheaper than feminine hygiene products over the course of a year or so).
Now, my major concern had been, "What happens when you take it out? Doesn't it....spill?"
Even K had said the first few times were awkward. But, like tampons, it takes some getting used to. (If you have worn a tampon and remember the first time you used one, you'll know what I'm talking about. Holy hell, those bi*ches hurt the first time they go in and come out. I'm pretty sure there was a day in 9th grade when I wore one half-in all day, and wondered why it hurt so bad to sit down. ANNNYYYYhotperiodmess......)
I got it in. PERFECT. Felt like I didn't even have anything in. Now, granted, this is not something you wanna do in a work stall. You actually don't want to deal with the Diva Cup anywhere other than a personal bathroom WITH a sink near the toilet. My theory is that it's called the Diva Cup because you need to be a Diva and demand your own bathroom when attending to it.
So, a few hours go by. I forget I have it in! I high-five K when I see her, proclaiming "I got it! It's in right now!" And she said, "Me too!" (And then I silently prayed, please let us both have washed our hands well....)
It came time to take it out, in the comfort of my own home bathroom. Now, here's the thing: Nothing sticks out of the Diva Cup from your cooch entrance, which means everything's inside.
Which means....
Things are slippery.
Which means...
It's hard to grip it to get it out.
Which means....
I ended up laughing and trying to MacGuyver it out of myself for a good 10 minutes. LTR Shim must've thought I was dropping the mega-deuce of the century (not that girls poop, if you're a man still unfortunately reading this).
I decided to push and try to dry off the tip (to make it grippable) with a little piece of toilet paper. I then decided that the only way to REALLY make it dry and grippable was to do the unthinkable:
I fanned my va-jay-jay.
Finally, I got enough grippage (nails sort of help, too, ladies) and pulled it out. Not the prettiest of scenes, but definitely more pleasant than coming home to find a used tampon in the middle of your bed, gifted to you by your disgusting dog.
All evidence of your monthly visitor is flushed down the toilet within a minute, and you get it back up there and are ready to take on the world in your Snooki bra.
So those are my life-changing items of Summer 2010. And if you're a man and made it all the way through this, well, props to you.