Besides the fact I'm not craving junk and instead, having the world's strongest urge to make some sprout salad, there is nothing significantly different than what it was eight years ago when I posted my first entry on Snobster Dot Blogspot Dot Com. Kids, back in the day it was Dot Com- I don't know when you're reading, what will it be but today it's Dot In. That opening sentence is a mighty long one, almost the same problem carried over from eight years ago. Convoluted, complex sentence structure and an immense sense of condescension. There's a deeper thought process that goes in to compose the words before I decide the content- previously which flowed as I typed- now it's a rational argument which goes over both ways in my head and invariably, a lot of it remains right there. Why bother posting it when you can play ping-pong right there, one group comprising of urban idiots, the other being ignorant first time broadband users. I sound like I'm inviting trouble with such pride but cannot help and smugly react, what you're thinking and reading today, I've probably done that a week ago and what you will read a week from now, I'm spewing it out at the moment. This superiority springs from the academic demeanor, the same which has brought eight long years on digital front to be presented infront of you (and you because you're reading this right now). I could have done this in a diary- classic oxblood Moleskine ruled-page diary with an ink pen, yummy- however, I've transitioned from a uber utilitarian Acer to a Dumb-Dell and now a 'hipster' (good God that word) Mac loaded with all possible 'non-hipster' applications that get me past work daily.

Anyway, I've procrastinated this piece longer than my papers and almost been holding the laptop for over 12 hours wondering how to initiate another rant. This one won't flow seamlessly as I'm running against the time. Less than half an hour for the date to change and no fresh entry on the anniversary (I've a case of digital OCD).

First up, the figure 'eight' in numerals looks like two balls intertwined. Not the yin-yang sort but more like two breasts. The thing about breasts is that it's pretty normal to have them different sized, kinda sorta the numeral '8' where the cursive hand expects you to loop the lower circle a little wider than the upper one. The thing about number '8' and boobs is that I have been meaning to write about my breasts for a while and I personally believed, what better than my blog anniversary. However, I've no solid thoughts. Only observations about the reaction people have upon mentioning/discussing/watching and their personal voyeuristic opinion of breasts.

For those of you who are unaware of why this is being stretched and brought about, I've a huge set of boobs. 38-C, if you like visual details and the sort. I have a frame that can support it, regardless of how much I'd give to be flat. One thing that I learnt over the years is that no matter what you do- your projects, works, CV- nothing gets as much attention as your set of boobs. I could be in a round neck t-shirt or a scooping low v-neck dress, I would be talked about, ridiculed as well for having large breasts. I do understand where this comes from. Large framed people are easy/soft targets (sorry, not sorry for the intended pun) and if there's a certain thing that stands out (again) it's the set that walks in before your face does and gets talked to, more often than your face.

I have been told a lot of things about the way my breasts appear. Friends tell me to not have babies, have boyfriends. Some of them blatantly tell me they'd never have this size and while a few others repeatedly talk about how much they would want to be well endowed and it can literally get things done. I've gotten name-shamed, been cat-called by people I'd have rather not known but have come to, due to the large sized breasts. It's almost like a learning curve (another one), when I have a conversation with a platonic friend- either it's an open invitation for them looking to be flashed or them hiding their preference ("I like my girls skinny, with massive boobs." said a friend to me once) that they'd rather not be seen with me. My breasts have basically made me into a kind of a person who's seen with some abnormality. "Hey look, she has boobs. Big ones!"

It should come as no surprise then, that at my folks' anniversary party recently (big silver event, complete with bad cake on order and a bisexual letch photographer who might be reading this blog- in case you are, the photographs suck monkey balls.) I pulled my guns and bought an outfit which gave enough cleavage on display. I don't know where it came from but it was a collective response to all that had been said and all that I was going to hear for the rest of my life. The dress really did something. The photographs which have me, have a significant amount of cleavage and side boob happening throughout. At some points, I saw them and cringed for I wouldn't publically dare to accept that I own that however, that night, as I strut my stuff and danced for a while, it was a moment of acceptance. Yes, I'm a proud owner of big breasts that command your attention, as much as my face does (which is in a dire need of adult braces possibly because my orthodontist fucked my face earlier). It's almost refreshing to bring it up to a point where I can talk about it, here on this page and accept it the way they are.

Naturally, of the 125 odd people at the party were shocked. However, what followed was even peculiar. I had women look at the pictures and point me later on the phone or in person.

"Dude, you have some balls." (sic)

"That dress is showing some cleave."

"Another minute at that party and your boobs could have just popped out."

"You know that rack of yours is killer, but it doesn't do anything for me."

"If I had a little bit of your boobs. Not all of it. Only a little. I don't want such big boobs."

"*insert a name* saw your picture in the office along with the rest of the girls and she came asking 'Why does her boob look like that? It's so big.' I think she is jealous because she is flat."

"You know that picture must have given several guys blue balls. Can you hold yourself for a week before you post the next one?"

Well, fuck no. I am not posting pictures to help men recover from shock or get into one. Neither do they look strange or abnormal cause you're flat. They're just the way they are. The abnormality is in your mind and not in my body. Look at your fingers and compare them with someone else's, your toe-nails with another person or your side burn and the eyebrows. All of it are different cause you're made of different genes, coming from different medical background etc. Not two things in you and another person can be symmetrical or similar, then why do my breasts bother you?

This year, I'm out to change your mindset. By the virtue of shameless conversations and difficult to approach topics. This begins with my breasts. You like them, good. You don't like them, move on.