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[Lead image via TMZ]

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Accepting your boobs for the size they are.

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Robert Pattinson and his thong.

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Why men are obsessed with breasts.

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Ohmygah best mashup of 30 Rock ever

Breasts, mammaries, ta-tas, bazooms, melons, watermelons, balloons, boobs, boobies, chesticles, rack, honkers, hooters, headlights, baby feeding devices, pillows, snugglers, smugglers, and PUPPIES!

More than the Tardis and the Intersect, breasts are the greatest creation on God’s green earth? No? F*ck you, yes they are. Stonehenge could crumble, sliced bread can eat me and space may be the final frontier, but sure as s*it ain’t my favorite. Or ANY heterosexual male’s favorite for that matter. Men are obsessed with breasts. We are. Accept it. I’m not saying you need to like it, but it’ll save you a world of wishing death if you admitted it. The question isn’t whether Bourbon St. at Mardi Gras is our heaven, the question is: Why?

Well, I’ve got a few theories swirling in my brain. First, I think we’ve got breast envy. That’s right, I said it! Men love boobs because we’re without. They’re just so much fun! All we get to play with are our pricks and that’s pretty limiting.

Part of me thinks it’s a power thing. Breasts hold sway over us. We know they dominate us, and that therefore entices and as frustrates us. Women are the dominant gender for SEVERAL reasons, and two of them are staring at our chest while our eyes try to steer upwards. Read More »

Boobs – we all have them. Some are gigantic, some are barely there. Some are 100% real and others are fake. While some of us can fill out bras, some of us need a little push up enhancement. In a big breast lovin’ society, it can be hard out there for a girl with a smaller chest. But I’m not going to lie – I love my small boobs!

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.

Read More »

There’s an app for that.

For what? Well, just about everything these days. From finding the perfect shirt to getting directions to that restaurant you’ve only ever been to once to planning your wedding. There’s an app for it.

And most of the time, I think that’s a good thing. I pride myself on welcoming new technology, embracing these changes and seeing them as good technological advancements, rather than unnecessary complications. But today I just might have to make an exception. Because after spending some time in the app store I’ve made some discoveries that have led me to question not only my love of technology, but my love of humanity.

Have you seen what’s out there? It’s okay if you haven’t. Because I’ve brought it here for you. Partly to inform you, but also so you can commiserate with me. These are the apps our guys are downloading? No wonder they screw up so often!

1. Breastimate. An app that can tell you the bra size of every women in the room. You can either upload a picture, if you’re really curious about an old flame, or take a photo right there on the spot. Just point and click and there you have it. A “breastimated” bra size.

Read More »

Question?! Answer: Ask TuffyLuv@collegecandy.com.

Note To The Kids: I get several emails a week asking me to respond personally on email. I won’t do it. Stop asking.

Now back to your regularly scheduled column.

Dear Tuffy Luv,

4 ways you’re harming your boobs

This is the most pathetic/genius thing I’ve ever heard

Ask R. Patz a question!

Dress allll cute like Taylor Swift

Well this story will make you NEVER want to blind date

7 personalities to avoid when dating

Boost your metabolism!

HUGE blast from the past: shopping mall photos from the ’90s

Quiz: what underwear are you?

I want to begin this post by clarifying something.

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.

Read More »