29 June 2007

A *different* kind of wishlist item


Though it is one of the least labor intensive responsibilities of my ASJINE work day, selecting an item to showcase in the daily "If I had a sugar daddy..." feature consistently ranks as one of my most satisfying.

In fact, it's often one of the most satisfying parts of my entire day.

I'm a masochistic dreamer, I guess you could say, one who draws deep-down-in-her-belly pleasure from wanting things so painfully out of reach - the option to place a $1,540 cocktail dress into her virtual shopping cart, Hollywood moment-filled days every day, among others - that the usual how-can-I-swing-this? next-step isn't a consideration. For in my current and most likely forever future, there will be no "swinging" a dress that costs as much as my rent and there will be no cut-and-paste function to insert into my every morning the piano scene from Pretty Woman, the "Escort me by all means, but don't follow me...it's so predatory" slow dance from The English Patient and the Jonathan-finally-finds-the-copy-of-the-Marquez-book-and-goes-after-Sarah realization from Serendipity. Yet day in and day out, I give into those cravings that are not only unlikely to ever be sated, but in some cases, like the one I'm about to describe, where doing so is a physical impossibility.

Both here in my blog and in my daily life, I've always been very forthright - much to my parents' dismay, I'm afraid - about my impassioned views on female beauty. Particularly those lovely bits that rest just below the collarbone and just above the ribcage. Like some men are "leg guys" and some guys are "ass men," I'm without a doubt, in the purely admiring sense, an unabashed "breast girl."

And until a few weeks ago when I came into close contact with perhaps the most enviable pair DNA ever did link together, this affinity, like that which I have for the price-upon-request runway clothes and the tidy romantic comedy endings, was very much an abstract appreciation -- something I could safely dream about without any expectations and without the complication of having to watch others enjoy in front of me that which I could not - and would never - myself be able to enjoy.

But for better or worse, K and her perfectly symmetrical, perfectly teardropped, as perfectly primed for a push-'em-up-and-out bustier as a faded university tee breasts came smack dab into my life. My real life. My daily life. And now I have to deal not only with the awkwardness that is unconsciously staring at my new friend's bosom (though she assures me this is a common "problem" with which she has grown comfortable over the past decade) but I also have to confront an extreme wanting-what-I-can't-have-edness - a desire even the most impressive implants couldn't palliate - not only when I'm in her presence but even when a "K"-scribed e-mail pings my inbox.

Like I would with any uncomfortable quandary, I forced myself to face the problem head-on, and as a result transitioned through several phases, including the disingenuous just-be-happy-for-K phase, the futile what-can-I-do-to-make-mine-more-like-K's phase, the selfish maybe-I-should-stop-being-friends-with-K-so-I-can-go-back-to-pretending-my-breasts-are-the-most-perfect-I've-ever-seen phase, and finally, where I am now, the Dove commercial inspired channel-this-energy-to-finding-something-about-myself-I-love-just-as-much-(or-more)-than-I-love-K's-breasts phase.

So I'm still figuring out exactly what that "something" is upon which I can redirect my singular focus, but at least I'm now at a place where I can genuinely look forward to seeing K (and her beauties) without secretly hoping my memory of their fabulousness was colored by beer gogglery or my tendency toward selectively-positive recall.

Because frankly, as I look at the pictures she sent me as part of my informal therapy, they are that fabulous. There's no getting around it. Her rack is the Monica Bellucci rack of DC.

And as such, they're to be celebrated bra-free in a backless T-Bags graphic print maxi not only by lustful hetero and style-conscious Logan Circle men but also by women who can truly appreciate the beauty that is a large and lovely pair of lay-your-head-here ladybits.

20 comments:

K said...

My boobies are all misty-eyed. They want to make a speech, but instead, they shall simply hug you gratefully upon your next encounter.

PS - they've also asked me to mention how in awe they are of your writing. This post is top-notch.

tom h said...

K your a lucky gal because if Jo says they are beauties then they must be........Jo what a description..now I must close my mouth... people are staring at me here at work......

brown rowergirl said...

I wanna see! I wanna see!

Hmpf.

etcetera said...

brg - there are plenty of pics. write us a check and they're yours. j and i usually sell them on the streets for a small fee. gotta pay off those georgetown bills somehow!

freckledk said...

They are pretty spectacular. I think she may have won a prize for them, at one time or another.

brown rowergirl said...

An award? Elaborate, please.

S. said...

Yes, well as they say it's all fun and games until someone gets their eye poked out...

I guess the sorta equivalent in this case is my ex who unless she wants to wear a yurt has to get her work shirts made for her to avoid keyholing and a shapeless waist.

i think you're brilliant said...

was this your way of subtly saying you have the *second* best breasts in DC? I mean, because before you met K, you thought yours were "perfect"?

just joshing you, sweets :)

your writing keeps getting better and better, btw...

Johanna said...

K-

I'm glad your boobies liked my tribute post. I'm a vain vain girl, but I know and acknowledge when I'm in the presence of God-given perfection.

Put 'em in something pretty this Independence Day for me!

p.s. I'm with BRG -- please to elaborate on "best breasts" award, please.

Anonymous said...

The writing was good when she started, it's exceptional now. Paragraph 4 is one long, well-engineered sentence, 82 words. Para 6 is built around a single sentence 102 words long, clean writing, easy to read.

Girl's got game. And she was working it on this one.

N-Y-i-E
P.S. I'm a leg man, but I'm finding the idea of talking breasts completely distracting.

Anonymous said...

My girls are routinely sulky and inconsolable after an outing with K and her girls. I have to explain to them that everyone has to know their limitations and that I love them even though they are clearly inferior and will never live up to her girls.
I'm going to be an awesome parent some day.--Brunch Bird

pvd admirer said...

I demand a picture of this rack!

What a tribute piece...whoever this K is, she should know J has seen many a nice pair in her day and for her to single you out...well, that means yours must be as she says -- Monica Bellucci worthy.

PICTURE.

Anonymous said...

A gal who can appreciate the female form to this degree is a gal I'd like to meet.

Seriously, where do women like you (and your friends) come from???

brown rowergirl said...

anonymous:

we come from a place called Brown. they breed our type there. "exploration" of that kind - and not much else - is required to graduate.

dara said...

show me a woman who *can't* appreciate the beauty of a good rack. perhaps we can't do it as eloquently as Johanna does, but trust me, a woman knows and recognizes with praise when she's been outbreasted.

intern in the city said...

congrats on yet another DC Blogs nod!

Arjewtino said...

You say perfectly what we men can only ogle at with futile longing.

'frisco guy said...

Arjewtino speaks the truth.

Nice to see a pretty young lady who isn't so uptight about having an open appreciation for the female body.

Whether that goes beyond mere "appreciation" is still a mystery to me. And this whole Brown revelation throws a new twist on things...isn't that the naked party school?

Anonymous said...

Great post, now i'd like to see K's breasts...as i'm a breast girl myself.

lastcallmd@mac.com said...

Hey, just came across your blog. I'm 53, I'm told distinguished looking i.e hair, salt and pepper, fun, amusing conversationalist, cynical observer of the absurd surrounding us daily, and generally good companion. Oh, I also make a lot of money, don't want a girlfriend but would be happy to be your sugardaddy if it's just about clothes and trips. Holler at me. Best

Ken