not quite 'tit's up'

Okay. I officially suck at this blogging thing. It seems I turn my back for uno momento and wham, another week has escaped. What the hell, huh? As it turns out, I do have an excuse... or a scape-goat, rather. Everyone, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Everybody.
For those in the know, The Bresticles have had a trying couple of years. Six trying years, precisely. Six years of being reconstructed breast-bastards... six years of 'Frankenboobs'. Well, gentle readers, not anymore. I spent Tuesday night bare-chested in a somewhat clinical-looking chair while Kyle Hels tattooed my nipples back into existence. He was uber-professional about having a hausfrau in his chair, and seventy-five minutes passed by like nothing with fun, friendly bantering whilst he painted in the new 'details'. Under all that ink lurks the heart of a philosopher and healer, so if you've been considering a permanent addition, stop in and see him. You rocked the new nipples, Mr. Hels. Thank you.

I was quite well behaved, so those of you who were privy to the "grab an ink-artist in your thighs and squeeze him till you hurt" um, fantasy, need not worry. No tattoo dudes were injured in the making of my nipples. It wasn't even really painful until I got back home. Leave it to me to remember on the second Percocet that said drug winds me up just a tick. Two hours of barely unconscious rest was my punishment. The new nippies are doing great, however, and were graciously shared with all interested third parties today at the shop. The strangest thing is having to be aware of them at all. After six years of the silent treatment, having them rail for attention from inside my bra is a little disconcerting. (Apparently, those lil' chicas just like it rough. *snark*)

What's going on around here now? Book Two has made an appearance. I caught the author soaking in a foot bath at the nail salon and snagged my signed copy. I begged to help edit Book Three, and she accepted, so, if in fact I do get my hands on it, expect clearer sentence structure and zero typos.
This story moves along at a pretty good clip, and I didn't have to twitch too much over the weird punctuation. (Srsly, K. Book Three? Let me fix it.)

Gratuitous bloom shot for Miss Rob, who insisted I needed to put flowers on the blog. She takes a lot of medication, y'all. Don't judge.

I meant to at least get back around to lemon pound cake, but my ebullience over my new ta-ta accessories has me a kinda exhausted. C