Although we all seem so programmed to want double D’s that spill out of some overly priced bra that will only add to their bodacious size, I am perfectly okay with my boobs and the size that they are today. Really, I don’t see what the big deal is when it comes to being an A or B cup. In fact, I only see the pros instead of cons.

Thanks to my smaller cup size, I never have to worry about shopping. My well-endowed friends always complain about never finding bras in their size, never having the styles they want made for their boob type, or they feel like lingerie and undergarment shopping isn’t aimed for those with a larger bust. Based on my personal experience, I always find the size I need, the style I want, and leaving with what I want or need happens more often than not. Same with shopping for tops and dress — while my D cup friends have a difficult time finding dresses that fit them well in the bust, I feel like my small boobs don’t determine what I can and cannot wear. Yes, of course, sometimes I don’t fill out a dress completely, but I sure rather slap on a padded push up to do the job instead of wearing something else.

Not only do my small tatas make it easy to shop, but they keep things simple. Women with larger breasts often complain of having stretch marks, sore boobs, and of course, a sore back. A few of my friends find running painful without the right bra support because their boobs are so heavy. I, on the other hand, have never experienced what that could possibly feel like. With so many back problems occurring for women with fuller cup sizes opting for breast reductions, I can’t help but feel lucky that my small boobs have never held me back or caused me pain.

While some women with smaller boobs often feel insecure about how men will react to them, I just say … whatever. If a man doesn’t want to talk to me, date me, or get frisky in the sheets because I have tangerines instead of watermelons – I don’t want to know him in the first place. Obviously, my breast size does not define me and if that is somehow a deal breaker, then let me say NEXT and move right along. And just because I have clementines instead of cantaloupes, it doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. My boobs still function the same way as big ones. In fact – they are perfectly palm sized, and the last time I checked – their size (or lack thereof) changes nothing between the sheets. Imagine if women decided what men they were interested in completely based on penis size before ever talking to them – how would that go over? But really, my small boobs are mine – and no guy is going to make me feel badly about them.

Although I will admit that sometimes I wonder if the grass is greener on the other side, I can’t help but just embrace what I’ve been given – even if it’s nothing more than a handful. My boobs work for me, and as a woman with the body I have — I don’t think I could ask for more.

I still can’t figure out why a store like Victoria’s Secret, who base all their advertising on women with luscious big breasts, doesn’t carry most lingerie in their stores above a C. Am I missing something here?

It’s all routed in a vicious cycle of girls wanting what they can’t have. I’ve always heard my smaller-chested friends whining about wanting bigger boobs when I and my more endowed friends begged for smaller ones. And I’m not even one of those poor girls that has to shop above the A-D range (bless your heavy-chested hearts), so why has it always been so hard? Well, thanks to online shopping and places like BareNecessities.com, we can find beautiful bras, like this one from Felina, for a fantastic price in a wide range of sizes, just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Honestly, the first thing I noticed about this bra was the price. Almost half of what Victoria’s Secret charges for their bras and the sizes range from a B-DDD. Am I the only one who didn’t know a triple D existed? Things get a little fuzzy for me after the D mark, but this bra is perfect if you hover around that size. And for a bonus – if the size you picked doesn’t fit just right, the site will pay for your shipping to exchange it. Both ways.

This bra manages to be both gorgeous and sexy, without being too cutesy. The pink is a wonderful Valentine option (order 2-day shipping to get it in time!) and it’s not too frilly to wear on a day-to-day basis. The demi-cup style (meaning it’s really only the lower half of a cup) gives great lift and shows off just the right amount of the amazing shape it creates, which also makes it perfect for giving you just a hint of cleavage in clothes without a risqué plunging neckline. This is a bra that’s working for you under you clothes and working for him without any, and gives you the confidence to navigate from one to the other. There’s a bra that’s worth way more than $32.

Even though I may still need to work out with two sports bras (and women get boob jobs why??) at least I won’t be shedding any more tears in department stores any time soon. Unless I find something wonderful that’s out of my price range, which is all the more reason to continue shopping online where no one can hear the sobs.

See what else Julia’s jonesing for right here.

I love my boobs. Seriously.  They are fabulous and I wouldn’t do anything in this world to replace them with anything else.  I’m happy to have them by my side whenever I‘m laying down need a handful of jiggly happiness to cry on.  I believe they are superb. I don’t want this post to seem like a giant complain-fest.  It’s simply the honest truth about having big boobs.

Because mine are ginormous.

I’m being honest.  You could probably see them from where you’re sitting right now.  I can barely fit half of one in my hand when I grab on to them (yes, I’ve tried) and when I look down, I can’t see my feet.  For a large handful (pun intended) of my life, they have been large.  When I was in seventh grade, all of the kids in choir made fun of me because I refused to wear a bra until my mother tackled me down and force-fed me a training bra (I thought it was uncomfortable).  Kids in my high school nicknamed me BLT.  And it had nothing to do with my devotion to bacon, lettuce, and tomato. The acronym was for ‘Big-Lucious-Tits.”

For a long time, I believed that there was nothing positive about having big tatas.  Firstly, you can never wear skimpy clothing without looking like a slut (or risking a nipple slip).  Second, I understand men love boobs but during insecure moments I wondered if they just wanted to talk to me because they were so obnoxiously huge. And third, I was convinced come 40, I would have to tuck them in my socks or tie them over my head.

Having 34 DD’s comes with major restrictions, but I’ve learned to embrace my lovely jugs. Although I can never wear really cute, skimpy swimsuits and racy tops (out of fear I’ll immediately come off as a slut and experience generous side/under boob) I’ve found a subtly sexy way to dress myself… and my two big friends.  I’ve come to discover my own set of sexy big-boobied bras as well as the wonderful ones that minimize my lady friends.  People I just meet never know my boobs are the size of a human head until I tell them.  I’ve come to like it that way.

Oftentimes, guys don’t know what to do with them.  Sometimes, they end up grabbing them so hard mid-makeout sesh, I have bruises all over them the next day.  And when I’m working out, I don’t know what to do with them. It hurts when I go running because they are busy pummeling my chest and nearly smacking me upside the head.  To prevent it, I’ve been forced to wear (on average) three sports bras when I work out. [Editors Note: On the opposite end of the spectrum I use a little scotch tape and I'm ready for a marathon.]

Come the end of college (and when Mama’s insurance was running out), I debated getting a breast reduction.  They had yet to physically hurt me – I think my North Face backpack and Geology books beat them to that point – but one of my girlfriends had recently underwent breast reduction surgery and she did not regret it.  I saw her happy (almost to the point of being light on her feet – seriously, was she actually floating?) and I envied her.  Her boobs were the perfect size while I was busy shoving my nipples back into my bra.

But after a long, hard, topless look in the mirror, I decided against it. (Note: I also decided it was time to be more cognizant of locking my bedroom door, but that’s a whole other story.)

After struggling with accepting myself as a curvy, big-boobed lady in high school and learning how to express myself as a curvy, luscious woman in college, I realized that I actually love my boobs. Every single pound of them. As many difficulties and slight insecurities they have brought me over the years, they are a part of who I’ve become and, multiple sports bras or not, I wouldn’t have my body any other way.

Love your boobs or hate ‘em, make sure you take care of them!

It’s no secret that here at CC, we love Entourage. HBO and Showtime never cease to entertain with shows like Dexter, Weeds, and True Blood, but for some reason, Entourage has always held a special place in our hearts (and no, it’s not just because of this).

Besides the witty and quippy writing, Entourage is almost always hilarious, last night’s episode being no exception (everyone trips on shrooms in the desert and Ari desperately calls Lloyd to get him through his ordeal). The characters are strange yet likeable, and the Hollywood “scene” has never been drawn quite so wackily. So yeah, we love the show. Love it enough to stay up late on a Sunday night or TiVo it to watch immediately after work.

But here’s the thing: there’s pretty much no way to feel good about your body once the credits roll. A show created, produced, directed, and mostly written by men, Entourage is bursting at the seams with “hot” women. I’ve been watching for 5 seasons, and I honestly can’t remember a time when a female character was anything less than absolute runway material.

Everyone has big boobs. Everyone is thin and tall enough to dunk a b. ball like Michael Jordan. It’s like the casting director opened up a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, pointed to every single girl in there, and made sure she got a spot on the show. Like the producers walked around Vegas with Pied Piper flutes and somehow made the entire population of showgirls, strippers, and car models follow them to LA (perhaps they offered them cookies that would eradicate cellulite?).

This got me thinking; Entourage is great and all, but most likely, it’s written with dudes in mind. Most of the guys in Vinny’s group are less than perfect (E’s four feet tall, Turtle looks like one, Drama isn’t hot in the least, and Ari is on the old side), and yet, they get all the vajayjay they could ever hope for from beautiful chicks who disappear from the plot as soon as they’ve served their purpose.

I’m not trying to be a killjoy; it’s obvious that we love hot strippers and girls with big boobs, but WTF?! There’s more women in the US than there are men — shouldn’t we be granted the right to A) see girls who represent more than just the small model percentage, and B) at least a few guys who are super smokin’?!

We wouldn’t dream of getting pissed off at our favorite show (it’s like getting mad at that adorable frat boy for falling asleep on your shoulder after shotgunning 9 beers), but it seems pretty obvious to us that Entourage could certainly improve it’s female following if they took into consideration just how sensitive some of us are to how we’re represented on screen.

What do you think? Should Entourage change it’s ways, or stay just the same?