Growing up I was never the kid at the top of the monkey bars or climbing trees. This also means I was never the kid with skinned up knees or broken bones. And while some might think this means I had a sheltered childhood, I can say I honestly loved sitting inside my safe, warm house reading all 528 Babysitter Club Books.

And I have remained relatively injury free right up until this year. It started when, during one trapeze class, I fell into the net landing just slightly on my head. I sat up and told jparks “oh, that hurt my neck a little” but didn’t think anything of it. By the time we got home I could barely turn my head. By the time we went to bed I was in a lot of pain. The next day I went to the Urgent Care clinic where x-rays revealed that I needed some prescription strength Aleve and a heating pad. Three days later I was healed and able to look in both directions again.

Then, earlier this week, I jumped off the trapeze platform with my arms bent. The pull of my body weight jerked my arms straight and hurt my right shoulder. Again, I thought nothing of it, and took another swing. That swing hurt a bit more. But of course, I climbed back up to the platform for a third swing. After that I was done for the night and could barely lift my arm.

That last incident was only 3 days ago and somehow I’ve managed to hurt myself again. Tonight jparks and I had our first trampoline class (note to self: go buy a better bra. I am not ready for my Juggy audition) and during a timed jump off, I lost control and slammed my knee into my forehead. Not surprisingly this knocked me down and almost out. The good news is that the instructor said he didn’t know people could fold in half like that. The bad news is I am a moron.

I could reduce my risk of injury by not taking any more trapeze or trampoline classes, but I really like both of them. I think from here out I’ll just be more careful and maybe not trash talk as much. Did I mention that part? Each time I get hurt it’s right after I trash talk to Jason. Tonight I called him a pussy and then karma made me hit my head.

Maybe, before I learn anything else, I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Or maybe jparks should stop being a pussy.

Yesterday jparks had a rough day, mainly due to the fact that he can’t learn from his mistakes.

First I was sitting on the floor opening my new cupcake carrying case and cupcake tree when he walked over and grabbed at my boobs. Why was he grabbing at my boobs? Well, he is jparks. If he didn’t grab at my boobs I might not recognize him.

As I mentioned, I was sitting on the floor and when he grabbed at my boobs I swung out and hit him in the crotch. It was truly just a reflex and I didn’t even realize I had hit him that hard, at least not until he dropped to the ground, grew red in the face, and gasped for air between cries.

Later, when he had recovered, jparks came to annoy Lily while she was trying to sleep. She wanted none of this and bit him on the nose. Did he learn not to bother a sleeping dog? No, he didn’t. He pestered her some more until she bit him again. Personally I sided with Lily and would have bitten him too.

And to end his day of a bitten nose and bruised nuts, jparks came and sat next to me on the couch. He leaned over to bite my arm (yeah I don’t know what’s wrong with my husband, he has mental problems) and got a mouth full of hydrocortisone spray.

My arms had started itching really badly at my work event and I sprayed them the next day when it hadn’t stopped. I hadn’t mentioned the spray to jparks because, well I honestly didn’t see him licking or biting my arms in the near future. Lesson learned: expected the unexpected. As soon as my flesh hit his tongue he recoiled with a look of disgust that I would have paid to see again.

Later that evening he reached over and bit my arm again. Ha, moron! The awesome look from before crossed his face as I laughed and asked why he didn’t learn. He ran off to rinse out his mouth, muttering under his breath about why I didn’t remind him about the spray.

One hit in the nuts, 2 dog bites, and 2 tastes of hydrocortisone spray. It was a bad day for jparks, but an entertaining one for me.

Come on people, it’s around payday and I know you can spare a few bucks for breast cancer. If you cough the money up now you probably won’t even miss it. I know you can spare $25 or $10 or $300, if you want to be a big spender. Come on folks, don’t let me down! Click here and save boobs with me.

Update: Yay for Whitney, Miranda, and Laurette (my mother in law) (how weird is that? I have a mother in law!) for helping me save boobs! Boo to my own mom, come on! Cough up some money!

2nd Update: And now yay for Kathy as well!

Tonight I signed up to run in this year’s Susan G. Kormen Race for the Cure. Not familiar with Race for the Cure? The mission of The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation is to eradicate breast cancer as a life threatening disease by advancing research, education, screening and treatment. I am asking that everyone reach into their pockets and make a donation to help support this great charity.

You can make a donation here on the green “Support Regan” button. Or you can email me to get my address to mail a check. Either way I need to get the donations in soon, as the race is September 24th. Not much time to get me to my fundraising goal of $350, but I know we can do it.

Googlers, you are very lucky because for every donation over $50, Google will make a matching donation. Basically you get to feel twice as good about your donation. And come on, if you work for Google you can afford to spend $50 to save boobs. You’ll need to turn in a form to Google requesting they match your donation, but rest easy, this can be done online and I can help.

No donation is too small, as every penny helps fund research that will affect the lives of millions of woman around the world. It takes only a minute to make a donation but that minute could extend a woman’s life for many years.

Recently having kids has been on my mind quite a bit. Not that I’m going to have kids anytime soon, it’s just that more and more of my friends are popping out kids or are announcing they will be working on creating kids to pop out and I guess that I’ve just been a bit preoccupied with not full blown baby fever, but some mild, low temperature, baby fever. And it’s honestly not even baby fever as much as “oh my god I’m older than my mom was when she had me, should I have a kid by now, am I going to be too old to have kids by the time I’m ready” fever.

I never really planned on having kids before 30. Actually let’s start a step before that. I never planned on having more than one kid. And in my head that one kid magically appeared in my life, fully formed without any of the pregnancy silliness. Truly I thought the stork was going to bring me a child, because obviously I am not built for pregnancy. Why obviously? Because the thought of swollen feet make my stomach churn. The thought of stretch marks makes my head hurt. And the big swollen food-providing boobs? I don’t even know the right word to describe how they make me squirmy and scared and dizzy and flabbergasted all at the same time. Big swollen food providing boobs make me sqarezzgasted. See, I have to create a word just to describe how I feel. I am not meant to give birth.

Not that I think there is anything at all wrong with swollen feet, stretch marks, or breastfeeding. I fully understand how they are part of the miracle of life and how they are each beautiful because of the larger picture that they are part of, but so help me god, I don’t think I can handle it. In fact, I saw this website: Shape of a Mother and I freaked out a bit. And had nightmares. And decided to keep my legs firmly together. And I’m currently searching for chastity belts online. It’s not that I think I have a perfect body and am worried about losing it. I have my fair share of stretch marks and I’m not nearly the size I would like to be but the thought that it can, and most definitely will, get worse and I will have no control over it really (please pardon my language) freaks me the fuck out. Plus I worry about how long it would take for me to feel attractive again, much less how long it would take for jparks ever to find me attractive again.

And it’s not just the hell that a woman’s body looks like after that creeps me out. What about having an epidural? That’s a big ass needle that they are going to stick right into my spine and I don’t even like getting a flu shot. Or what if the doctor does an episiotomy? Holy hell, the thought of that makes me want to cry. I’m so scared of episiotomies that I can’t even link the word to its definition for fear that I might learn something else about them that I don’t need to know. Honestly I can’t even give blood because I get such a panic attack my blood pressure rises and they won’t let me donate. Can you image how I’m going to be during labor?!? And c-sections! Holy crap, I had a friend that had one and I had to help her pack gauze into it when her husband couldn’t be at home. She was fine with it, but I wanted to die.

See, I. Am. Not. Built. For. Pregnancy.

You know I’ve gotten myself all worked up with my pregnancy fears that I can’t even remember what the point of this post is. Oh well, I’m off to bed to have nightmares of big boobs and freakishly swollen feet. And evil doctors that are crazy about cutting. Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember what I wanted to say.

And rest assured, this in totally and positively not a post to announce I’m knocked up. Because I’m not, thank you chastity belt!

It’s official: This weekend Jason’s boobs were upgraded to pecs. Rock climbing can perform miracles.

Last month 10 people stumbled onto my blog looking for opinions about Ipex bras. So far this month 3 people have done the same thing and we’re only on the 4th day of April. I figure it’s my duty to give the people what they want and actually produce an opinion about the Ipex bra.

And, unfortunately, I’m not being paid by Victoria’s Secret, but I will accept a free bra or two in return for the favorable opinion they are about to receive.

I bought the ipex bra awhile back and can honestly say that I’ve been really happy with it thus far. Happy enough to return to Victoria’s Secret and buy a few more, in fact. I love the material they are made out of; it has a nice amount of stretch to it without losing shape quickly. The ipex provides great coverage and lift without being obnoxious.

My favorite feature of the ipex is the extra coverage it provides right across the nipple area. (Yeah we’re talking about nipples here boys, starting getting nervous) Victoria’s Secret just says the bra has extra coverage in the nipple area, but I’m here to tell you that the coverage is perfect on cold days. Not a single person will know you’re freezing, yaknowwhatImean? I love the ipex for this added feature. Most bras that conceal cold nipples are also so thick it’s like wearing a blanket under your shirt. But not the ipex, it gives great coverage without the heft of a thick bra.

So there you have it, a glowing review of the ipex bra. And if Victoria’s Secret wants to send me a thank you they can shop my wish list online.

Recently Jason showed me that I can get a monthly report of information about my blog. Mostly it’s boring computer stuff that I don’t understand but there was one section of information that was pretty interesting: the search query report.

The search query report is a listing of things people have searched for that lead them to my blog. Not only does my blog have to come up as a search result, but the person has to actually click on my website from the search engine. The following is a list of things that people searched for and found me:

Let me just say that I knew talking about my breasts would draw the readers in. And I also like that someone wanted to know how to get a bigger butt and they found me. Move over JLo, my ass is taking over!

I used to only buy bras and panties from Victoria’s Secret but then I became poor and I was forced to buy my underwear from more affordable places like Target. This was until recently when Victoria’s Secret unleashed a new bra that I had to go check out: The Ipex.

It’s been a few years since I went into Victoria’s Secret with the intention of actually trying on something and apparently, in those years, they have revamped their customer service policy. I’m thinking there is now a male president of the company and he wants every shopper to have a enjoyable lesbian experience when she goes to buy her bras.

Before I go any further let me clarify that I have no naked issues as I was stuck in the woods at a resident camp with many other girls for many summers of my life and have seen and been seen by a rather large number of naked breasts. It’s just that when you’re not expecting to have a naked experience it’s a little unsettling.

And now back to how I got my breasts felt up by the salesgirls (yes, that’s plural)

I went in with the intention of trying on the new Ipex and maybe to find a new push up bra since at 25 your breasts decide they want to start developing a friendship with your knees. All of the salesgirls were very nice and immediately placed me and an Ipex in a fitting room. I barely had the bra on when there was a knock at the door and, before I could even fully answer, I had salesgirl #1 in the room with me suggesting that maybe, just maybe, I’m trying on the wrong size and she needs to measure me. I’m assuming they measure you without a shirt since a shirt could affect the outcome of your size. Or at least that’s what I was telling myself at the time.

next up: push up bras.

My friendly salesgirl #2 goes and gets me 3 different push ups that each offers “a different kind of cleavage and lift with looking fake, I mean look at my breasts can you tell I’m wearing a push up bra?”(puffs chest out at me, and please remember that I’m only in a bra and jeans at this point in time)

On goes push up #1. I think the salesgirls have implants in their ears that allows them to hear the hooks on bras hook because that’s exactly when she walked into my dressing room.

“Oh, I don’t know about that one on you, it looks more like it’s wearing you, rather than you are wearing it.” (I don’t know what this means, can anyone explain?) At this point she grabs my breasts and shoves them up so that my chin is resting on them making my neck obsolete. I’m not sure what this was demonstrating because I was so overcome with fear that next she would twist them off that I couldn’t pay attention.

She leaves and I ever so quickly try to get on push up #2 before she can enter the room again. Hooks hook and she’s back.

“Now that one, it just makes your breasts look perfect. You have this nice curve here (as she plays bongos on my chest) which looks very natural thanks to the thick layer of padding in the bra.” You know I’m sorry salesgirl #2, it didn’t look natural at all, but it did look good. And I still have one more bra left to try on.

At this point I’m getting a bit nervous because rather than leaving to go find bra #3, she has brought it into the room with her and she is making NO motion towards the door like she’s leaving for me to change. So, am I supposed to unleash my breasts right here so she can see them on their own and give me a better opinion about what the bras are doing for me? Do I do the pointless turn away from her yet still facing a mirror so that I’m reflected into the other mirror and therefore I look stupid for trying to turn away from her in the first place? oh god I could feel my ulcer growing irate by the nanosecond.

Thankfully at the exact moment when I needed to make a decision another poor girl needed to be measured for a bra and my salesgirl latched on to her. In her absence I tried on the final bra, didn’t even look at it, and then changed back into my own, safe, non-hands on Target bra.

I figured I was home free at this point but on my way out of the fitting room salesgirl #1 comes back and shows me her bra that she is currently wearing. No, she didn’t bring me the bra on a hanger, she lifted her shirt to show me the COLOR AND STYLE. How this was supposed to be helpful I don’t know. I think they are required to show you theirs since they’ve been looking at yours.

I left the store with an Ipex, a push up, and one quasi lesbian experience under my belt. Just like the president of the company wanted.

I went to the bank today to order checks and four personal bankers came over all at once to help me. 4 MALE personal bankers.

It wasn’t until I was leaving the bank that I noticed my shirt was unbuttoned. Right across my breasts.

All of that personal attention suddenly made sense.