My New Gummy Bears


My best friend picked me up in the wee hours of the morning and I started to get excited. I’d put off getting my saline breast implants replaced for far too long and it was finally the day. I’ve been having sharp stabbing pain in the left one, incidentally the same one that broke a few years ago. I’m not that vain… but I want two boobs again, preferably the same size.

Actually… bigger. I swapped out 510 cc saline for 610 Natrelle Inspira high profile cohesive gel. In layman’s terms, I went from a 36 DD to a 36 G/H. I caught a lot of flak for it, but I love having big boobs and if you have to buy them… why not?

I wore a 36 B for the first 27 years of my life. I know how it is on both sides of the fence and which side I prefer to live on.

My first surgical nurse had a million questions, complaining that she was an A and had always thought about it. I encouraged her and she told me after I came out of recovery that she thought she was going to do it.

My anesthesiologist came walking in. NOT the perverted one, because I called and asked for a replacement. My very first thought when I saw him, was that he looked a lot like Incredicock. He’s charming too, setting me at ease and chatting with me as they wheel me down the hall and into the operating room. He smells just like my favorite guy. That was my last thought.

I woke up and threw up. Suddenly surrounded by all my favorite nurses. They cleaned  me up and instantly started laughing and teasing me.

J- Ok, hit me. How bad was it. What horrible secret did I tell you guys?

N1- You told Derek he was hot. Oh and that you loved his beard and his tattoos.

J- I was afraid of that. He looks a lot like this guy I…

N2- Incredicock? We may call Derek that for the rest of his natural life. My favorite was when you told him he was a jerk for being a holdout <riotous laughter> and asked him why it took him so long to tie you up.

N3- In your defense, you did ask us to duct tape your mouth shut when we asked if there was anything you needed before we put you under.

J- and none of you had any tape?

N1. That’s the most fun I’ve had in surgery all week.


Derek popped his head in and smiled widely at me.

J- Sorry I hit on ya, doc.

D- Don’t sweat it, my wife loves it and Dr. did a great job. They look great. Knock ’em dead, Tiger.

I have a high pain tolerance. High enough that I warn them to ignore me and medicate me on schedule. They released me with a strict timeline.

That first night was no fucking joke. The left side of my chest was unrecognizable with my pectoral muscles separated to my collar bone. My implants were floating and my muscles were out of control, trying to figure out WTF happened. The opiods made me queasy and I couldn’t sleep on my back. There’s always a post-surgery moment where it all hits you at once. This was my moment.

My beloved Little Red took care of me for the first two days. I’m ridiculously independent so it was just really pleasant to visit with her and have her chastise me when I’d waited too long to take my meds and was in agony as a result. I always wait too long. I don’t like feeling foggy.

God bless the Dumpling’s daddy for showing up like the superhero he is, just when I needed his help the most. I’m so grateful, and he even picked up my coffee creamer for me. The most amazing part of the hardest days is realizing what incredible friends you have.

Miss Fancy is my Alpha and Omega. She drove me, and was the best sight post-surgery. There aren’t even words for how happy I was to see her face. She bought me this lovely first G bra and the coffee I’d been dying for, the moment we left the surgical center. I’m stuck in this godforsaken boob seatbelt, 24/7 for the first three weeks.


Miss Lovely has given me the big boob facts, and loaned me a lovely bra until my new arsenal of industrial strength bras show up.

It’s been two weeks and I love them. The pain is gone, with the exception of the dreaded boob seatbelt that I am dying to ditch. The most notable difference, is in the actual feel of them. Saline implants tended to feel like balloons under your muscle, but these actually feel like having real breast tissue again. They’re soft, squishy and even I want to play with them. I’m digging out sundresses and looking forward to being able to run again, even if I have to wear three bras. 🙂

If you’re on the fence and trying to decide: Feel free to email me if you have any questions. ♥



It’s either there……….or it’s not.

I’ve been working hard to shake my sad edges off, so I scheduled a date with NotCalifornia last night. To be honest, he’s not my type. He’s really nice, funny and has his shit together. An educated choice, if you will? I figured I should go, if only to laugh and eat dinner with someone I already thought was fun enough to approach first. A real man, interested in me for more than just sex. Write it down, y’all. They do exist. This one comes complete with baby lambs and more on the way.

Chemistry is important to me though… because I’m still drowning in it with Incredinope. My nerves stand on end when he’s within inches of me, and I catch myself taking a deep breath to stop all the wrong words from falling out of my mouth. I don’t shift smoothly, and when I’m in love with someone, he may as well be the last man on earth because the rest of them disappear. This level of chemistry has been my undoing… because now I don’t want to feel lukewarm about anything.

Once you know how it feels to be volcanic… a slow simmer just won’t do.

So I put on a cute dress, slipped into my favorite heels… and went to face my new fate.

Dating. <insert vomit emoji>

I always get to the restaurant 15 minutes early so I can calm the fuck down before my date arrives. I fake it convincingly, but I am painfully shy and ridiculously awkward when it comes to dating. First dates are worse than anything, in my experience.

Enter, the perfect dirty Bombay Sapphire martini. Three olives. A lovely glass of pull-it-together before my date arrives. Part of me wants to leave before he gets there.  My heart isn’t in it and if I’m going to be honest, the heartbroken girl in me is wishing my favorite guy would come walking through those doors, first. I know he won’t be, so I firm my resolve and breathe through the anxious disappointment I’m trying to squash with some icy cold gin.

Something feels so wrong about being on a date and wishing he were someone else. I would be pissed if the shoe were on the other foot… but in all reality, I have no way of knowing my date isn’t in the same headspace. We may as well laugh through it together, right?

I saw him walk in and break into a big smile when he saw me sitting at the table, which was immediately contagious. He’s cute… I’m just going to have to send him to Mrs. Barber for a little professional unearthing.

Dinner was lovely and he’s smart, funny, loves his kids and is a good daddy, something I find incredibly attractive. He bottle feeds his home grown baby farm animals. He wants to know what I’ve canned before, and shyly blushes when he asks if I’ll help him plant a vegetable garden.

It’s good and I should be excited but I’m just not quite there. I’d rather wait forever than settle for tepid bathwater over the lava I’ve been addicted to swimming in, lately.

I’m craving a volcanic bath and this is more akin to a polar plunge because the chemistry just isn’t the same. Something that only makes me miss the wrong guy, more.

Yay, dating.