Morning @ The Office

Me (to The Linguista): Is this top to boob-y for work?

The Linguista: Ashley, you have large breasts. Everyone knows this. The jig is up.

*****
The Violinist (in response to e-mail suggesting lunch place where one can order delicious falafel pitas): I would like to join your group of pita eatas.

*****

The Violinist (to me): What is my job title? Hobag?

The Professor: A List

* Has broken his nose ELEVEN times wrestling and playing football. I have only broken my nose once, and it was without a doubt the worst pain I've ever experienced.

* Also thinks that Heart of Darkness is a putrid waste of paper - just slightly ahead of The Good Earth.

* Nearly vibrates with hyper energy - like, his general frequency sometimes makes me tired.

* Has a pet peeve about people who have names that are nicknames - like Jack. He says no one should be named Jack because they should be named John and called Jack. Jack is probably my favorite boy's name.

* Told me about reading a book about cats in a store downtown and finding it really interesting. But not interesting enough to get a cat. We all know how I feel about my cat.

* Thinks that my laugh is charming - which is good because I laugh a) a lot b) loudly and c) rather forcefully.

* Totally adopted my fries-with-feta habit at The Grill.

* Am wondering if he should get his own blog label?

* Had a stuttering problem as a child and endured a lot of speech therapy. I've never heard crisper "t's."

* Called me a "pretty gal" tonight - as in, "I like to be able to buy a pretty gal dinner." To which I responded, "Did you really just say that?"

* Is a connoisseur of beer. My favorite bar downtown is a beer garden, and I feel hopelessly inept ordering after him.

* Somehow ended up in a conversation with me about bra sizes tonight? How does this happen to me?

* Owns a pretty impressive house with grown-up furniture in it. Like matching grown-up furniture.

* Has not read Harry Potter. I know, I know. He's getting a pass for a few months, but he better get on it.

* Is very patient about my disdain for academia.

* Knows I won't go out with him on Tuesdays because of House and Fringe.

* Really wants to take me out for Indian food which has me envisioning myself as Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly.

* Thinks I am infinitely wise about pop culture and music. He was so proud watching SNL a couple of weeks ago and recognizing The Killers.

* Sat with me on a bench tonight and let me tell him why I'm obsessed with Twilight...and that I'm not good at arguing, prefer the path of least resistance and that I might have to call my parents and tell them I'd be later than I thought. And he thought all of that was okay.

Lift & Separate: A Tale of Two Boobs

Confession: For most of my adult life, I've been wearing the incorrect bra size.

It's true. And I am going public with this information for any of my readers who may also be suffering from IBS (Incorrect Bra Sizing).

I arrived at the bra size I've been wearing through trial and error - trying on bras and giving my best guess at which one fit right. But today, I said modesty be damned and allowed the lingerie assistant at Nordstrom's to help me find the right bra. Turns out that the La Mystere bra that Oprah loves, and which I had been wearing, isn't so right for me. And to add insult to injury, I've been wearing the wrong size bra by a long shot.

I know I'm not the only one out there confused about what bra size I should be wearing. In fact, my mom was wearing the wrong size, too. I was slightly befuddled at being 27 and finding myself asking the the assistant, "So how should the bra fit?" Here's a hint: you should not, as I was, be using the straps to hitch the girls up.

And once I had on the right size - and after I had recovered from the astounding cup size from further down the alphabet than I would've liked -I was amazed at the results of a little lift and separate. I discovered that the size of my bust does not mean I must endure a painful bra with digging shoulder straps and an underwire hellbent to break my ribcage. Forget the truth - the right bra size will set you free. For those of you who wish to follow in my footsteps, I support you. And your bra will, too.

I, Bridesmaid: A Review

Three days, two time zones and four plane rides later, I am back in NC with Mr. Kudzu. Jenn & Dan had the luck of a fantastic weekend of wedding weather - although a wee bit on the crisp side if you're going to be wearing a strapless gown. Jenn looked lovely, and the ceremony was at the perfect time of day with all the golden late afternoon light coming into the church. As for how I did with my bridesmaid performance...well, you know what they say about good intentions.

The dress I was supposed to wear elegantly? Broke it. Despite the full-torso torture bra trying to hold me in and the scary panties popular with grannies the world over, I somehow managed to bust the strap on my dress. During pictures. And just after that, the photographer said for us to lean forward, and I said, "You don't want me to do that." Several safety pins later, I gave in to the fact that dress was not meant to be held together, took the straps off and apologized in advance for any indecent exposure. By the end of the night, the overuse of my groove thang had also broken the boning in the dress which was sticking out just above my hip.

Crying delicately? I did that pretty well. Although there was a moment when suddenly everyone disappeared just after Jenn was all dressed, and I did threaten to cry her a river. But during the service, I had a secret kleenex hidden in the palm of my hand which I used to stem the tide during a prayer. Very clever.

Up & down the aisle, I managed to make it without incident. And I even avoided collision with the grand piano when moving out of the way for Jenn & Dan to light the unity candle.

As for the dancing. Well. Oh, my. I am afraid to report that I lost my head completely and danced to nearly every song with unabashed gusto. I couldn't quite tell if the wedding guests were entertained or confused by my don't-stop-til-you-get-enough momentum, but I was like a crazy person out there. And just when I had settled down and said I wasn't going to dance anymore, they played "Devil Went Down to Georgia" and you know I ain't sittin' that one out. Move out of the way, y'all. It's time to break out the clogging.

And so, Jenn & Dan, sorry about the inevitable slew of pictures that will feature yours truly in the throws of some bizarre and uncoordinated dance move. But I had a good time. Congrats.