How to Not Have Nipples Show

I don’t mean to get too personal, but lately my nipples have been like, really unruly.

I normally have nothing but love for my nips, but it seems that nowadays they’re always inexplicably visible for no good reason. It’s exhausting. Even when it’s totally not cold and my shirt is totally not thin and I’m totally not pregnant, they just keep appearing through all varieties of fabric as if to say, “HEY GURL! WANNA GET SOME DRAAANKS?”

I can’t get them to calm down. The whole thing reminds me of the old adage that goes, “After a nuclear holocaust there will only be cockroaches and Cher left.” Or something? Did I make up the Cher part? I feel like I remember her saying that on Behind the Music one time. Or maybe I’m getting Cher confused with underground bomb shelters? In any case, what I’m trying to say here is that the real version of the saying should be, “After a nuclear holocaust there will only be cockroaches and Cher and bomb shelters and Nic’s relentless nipples left.”

The other day, I was having a particularly nippular morning.

(Yes, I’m making up words now. And you’re welcome because don’t even try to pretend that you’re not going to start describing everything ever as “nippular” – especially female puppies in heat and Anne Hathaway in general.)

Fed up with my unfortunate circumstance, I took to Google and searched for “how to not have nipples show,” which yielded very few relevant results because apparently I don’t know how to formulate proper sentences. It’s totally fine now though, because the next person to perform a poorly-worded search on this subject will at least be directed to the title of this post and then realize that their life isn’t so bad because (a) they’re not alone in their nippular struggles, and (b) they’ll get to add their name to that famous apocalypse quote, and cockroaches notwithstanding, who doesn’t want to be in the same category as Cher and my nipples?

The information I did manage to find via Google was so, just… not what I was looking for.

I ended up on a site maintained by a woman who calls herself “Linda the Bra Lady,” which actually sounds like the name of someone I could totally be best friends with, but not someone who would have any solutions to male nipple problems – unless of course her advice would be for me to wear a bra, in which case I’d have to tear my shirt off to show her that I absolutely do not have moobs while simultaneously Christina Aguilera-ing her with a melodramatic screaming of, “I AM BEAUTIFUL NO MATTER WHAT YOU SAY!”

(Can we just talk about using Christina Aguilera as a verb for a second? I’m obsessed and now plan on Christina Aguilera-ing at least two people in real life today.)

After I recovered from Linda calling me fat in my head, I ended up on Yahoo! Answers, which was a terrible mistake because THIS:

Screen shot 2013-05-24 at 3.25.39 PMA few things:

  1. Yahoo, what exactly do you mean by “resolved”? Did you give Princess nipples? If so, then can you give me new ones?
  2. Something — and by “something” I mean the spelling and punctuation in this query — makes me wonder if Princess actually had nipples all along but just wasn’t looking in the right place.
  3. I thought the question itself was absurd, but then I read the responses. Click that link at your own risk, y’all.

I surveyed some coworkers about my dilemma, and at some point the whole scene took a highly inappropriate turn when I started obnoxiously massaging my chest in thought and then shot out of my chair and proclaimed, “I’ve got it! SIGN HERE STICKERS.”

You know, those stickers you’d put on a letter and/or legal agreement (and/or nipple) to ensure they get properly endorsed? Well, I took two of them out and put them down my shirt and I wish I were kidding but they actually worked wonders and even solicited a puzzled-yet-really-really-impressed look from one of my work-wives.

She stood quietly in awe for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out what planet I’m from, but then finally just said, “You know what? That’s actually kind of brilliant.”



You. Are. All. Welcome.

At Least My Self-Replica Bobble Head Can’t Get Fat

So I have some random, amazing news: I am now the proud owner of a self-replica bobble head. And — since it is a physical object made of plastic, with no emotional eating issues whatsoever — it can never get fat. So now, on some level, I can never get fat. This brings me more comfort than I’ve felt in a long while.

And by “in a long while,” I mean ever.

I should thank my brother’s fantastic girlfriend who BRILLIANTLY thought to herself, “What’s the best gift for a self-absorbed yet low self-esteem-y blogger? Ah! A self-replica bobble head!” and had it designed to reflect my every physical feature.

Y’all. It looks just like me. Which is awesome and slightly creepy. But mostly amazing.

One of the best things about it is that it’s doing an animated, disco-y, Travolta-in-Saturday-Night-Fever-esque move with its left hand. Those who know me in real life can confirm that this is totally apropos.

Note: It has been brought to my attention that in photographs, the raised arm can be vaguely interpreted as Nazi-esque — which I totally didn’t notice myself. Because I’m not antisemitic. But if you are, then please be advised that in real life it’s 100% Travolta and 0% Hitler.

Here it is in my fridge, sandwiched between a bottle of Samuel Adams Winter Lager and a Low-Sodium V8:


After this initial session proved just how photogenic my replica is, I decided that it deserves a larger platform. So I brought it with me to my office in Times Square.

Here it is being manhandled by Mickey Mouse on my desk:

mickey mouse

Here is a representation of how I think I will feel on the inside if/when I ever get to meet Christina Aguilera in real life:


And finally, here I am trying to recreate the Leonard DiCaprio “I’m the king of the world!” moment in Titanic — except the exact opposite of that:

times square

Speaking of this photo – do we love the new look around here? I feel like the old set-up was too, like, serious or something. Plus I’ve always wanted my blog to look like American Apparel and Thought Catalog had unprotected sex and popped out a key change. Or something. I’m starting to not make sense again, and that could be because I’m still recovering from the cold that kept me home from work for the better part of the past week.

Stay healthy, y’all!

P.S. I LOVE YOU GUYS. Whoever helped to get me onto this list (see: #29) of the Top 100 LGBT-themed blogs on the web, I’m super touched. You clearly deserve your own self-replica bobble head for having such awesome taste in blogs.

%d bloggers like this: