Oh yes, I went through with it. Again. And I stand by my original review: ouch.
Wednesday evening I rushed to the spa to pay a bucket of money to have pain inflicted on me. By choice! Full body waxing…legs, Brazilian, eyebrows and underarms. A little over an hour and a half of hot wax and ripping hair from me.
First time I tried this was early November and I vowed that no matter how much it hurt, I would not stop the technician, nor would I cry. For the most part I did alright, but I certainly yelped a bit every now and then.
Wednesday I was determined to do better. Everyone says waxing gets easier the more you do it, so dammit, I wasn’t gonna yelp again. Since I got out of work a little late I had to call and say I would most likely be about 15 minutes late. When I heard that H was running late with the client before me I sort of happily explained something about it being a great thing because I would have time to stop at the bar next door for a shot of tequila before my appointment. The owner laughed and told me not to bother because they had a bottle of tequila. Yay!
I had just arrived and was bullshitting with one of the employees when the owner came gliding out from the back, headed towards the front desk, with a wine glass that was almost half full of tequila. On the fly she handed me the tequila. While she was still within reach I had the contents consumed and was handing the glass back. Seems next time she’ll give me more tequila / Novocain since I “drink too fast.”
Thing is, I think it worked! The waxing didn’t hurt as much as I remembered. Yay, tequila!
Until over an hour into it when I had to turn over. Please take a moment and try to imagine hot wax on your ass. Not on the left side, not on the right side, but right in the middle. Fuck, that hurts! And this is before they rip the wax off. Deep breath! Now imagine that hot wax clinging to the few hairs around your sensitive asshole. Keep imagining…paper being pressed into the wax and riiiiiip!
Yeah, the deep breaths didn’t help. A gel squeezie ball that I brought with me sort of eased some of the pain by giving me something to focus on. So did distracting myself by taking photos of my face while my ass was being waxed…
Fucking crazy Brazilians and their waxing.
ANYhow, when these photos were taken, I was more than half nekkid so these totally count for today. To those of you who wanted me to video my experience, I might consider it for next month’s adventure. (However, you still would only see my face for that!)
So, anyone in the Pittsburgh area own a video camera?
When I was in elementary school (maybe third grade?) I couldn’t ride a bicycle, yet I was sitting on my stepbrother’s bike in our front yard. For some reason I lifted up my feet and down the hill I went, into the neighbor’s yard. In an effort to not hit the huge bushes that were quickly approaching my face, I turned the handlebars and went down the steep hill towards the street. Right about the time I got to the three or four feet high wall that marked the end of the neighbor’s yard, I let go of the handlebars. Like a little scared Evel Knievel, I jumped the entire sidewalk and landed face first in the gutter. Lifted my head, looked down and saw my front tooth in a pool of blood. Picked that “adult” tooth up and raced up to find my Mom on the phone. Just held my bloody little hand out to show her my tooth.
Next thing I remember was the ride to the hospital. A neighbor had given me a bicycle reflector to hold out the window and told me to holler “Woooooooooooooo” out the window as though I were a siren. Dad was a cop so we broke all kinds of traffic laws getting my still gushing blood from my face self to see a doctor. All I remember is the laughter in the car as we drove. Everyone was making fun of me for not holding the icepack to my face. It was more fun to holler “Woooooooooooooooooooooo!” out the window.
For years after that I had a variation of a recurring dream that I was losing my teeth. Basic gist of the dream is that my teeth would crumble in my mouth, like melting sugar cubes. Finally, for Christmas 1993, my (now ex) boyfriend bought me a new front tooth. A real, grown up cap instead of the terrible fake front tooth I received all those years ago at the hospital. And the bad dreams stopped for a long time.
Turns out the life of a cap like I have is only about 10 years. Seeing as howI am waaaaaaaaay past that time frame, I don’t want the dreams to come back. My dentist never seemed to care that I should have replaced the cap and I don’t know why. He always brushed off my inquiries.
I have a new dentist now. Met him on Saturday. First appointment is on Tuesday evening. Cross your fingers that this guy is good and will take great care of my face. I’ve never been thrilled with my smile and I would like to change that. Even if it means that he will have to do a root canal on me before replacing my front tooth. You know me, I’ll keep you posted.
Small aside…although I mentioned never being happy with my smile, it is mostly my fault seeing as how the parents invested in braces for me while I was in high school. Unfortunately I was unsatisfied with the not instant change and hated the pain so I took wire cutters and pliers to the braces. Popped those fuckers off myself. One would think that I would have stuck with the braces to build a better smile. I have never been incredibly logical about simple stuff, eh?
Huge aside…think the number of times I smacked my head as a child might be the reason I took this photo and called it art?
So this past week I got all brave…brave to the point of posting my oh so not small ass on the internet. Here for Half Nekkid Thursday and also over where it all started. Here in the underwear, over at Osbasso’s place in nothing but a white shirt, fishnets and heels. Although slightly nervous because my body is not as spectacular as Vixen or Biscuit or any number of stunning women who post for HNT, being the Mystery Guest was still something that I wanted to do, as was pushing a personal boundary by putting up a photo of my rear.
So I went for it. Hit publish. Maybe four positive and encouraging comments hit my inbox (yay!). Then nuttin. Not a damn thing. Crickets in the inbox. My normal predominately confident self started to crack a bit and doubt whether or not anyone wanted to see my big old butt. Had I made a mistake? Was I too confident?
Another hour and no more comments. Fuck, they can’t find anything nice to say. Not even anything funny. That’s not good. Another hour. Another nothing.
At lunch I tried to reach Jester’s site and couldn’t get to it. Host Gator was showing a cranky message. Just about then a friend sent me an instant message that they couldn’t reach my site. Seemed my site was down (so THAT is why no comments!), as were all of the sites that Jester hosts.
All I could do was laugh…my butt broke the internet. Plus my butt took down other sites along with my own! How many folks can say that? Os and I had a good laugh about it. We might start selling t-shirts that say “My Butt Broke the Internet” so place your orders now. 
(Thanks to Jester for quickly getting us back up and running.)
Now, onto the post I originally wanted to post today:
That magnet is on my fridge. You can clicky to make it bigger. It says:
I AM…
Amazing, the architect of my destiny.
Beautiful, both inside and out.
Courageous, being true to myself.
Dynamic, constantly changing and growing.
Enlightened, knowing all is well with the world.
Fallible, perfectly imperfect.
Grateful, for each and every day.
Healthy, full of energy.
Intuitive, honoring the still small space within.
Joyful, celebrating the truth of my being.
Kindhearted, reaching out to others.
Lovable, exactly as I am.
Miraculous, a precious child of the universe.
Now Here, fully in this moment.
Optimistic, anything is possible.
Prosperous, manifesting abundance.
Quick to build bridges, not walls.
Resourceful, obstacles are my stepping stones.
Spiritual, having a human experience.
Trustworthy, speaking the language of the heart.
Unique, the only me there is, was or ever will be.
Valuable, I make a difference.
Wise, open to all of life’s lessons.
Xcited, about living and loving life.
Young at heart, delightfully childlike.
Zestful, happy to be me!
(A girl can’t help but be happy and confident when such nice things are seen every day.)
Backstory:
Two weeks ago at bowling my favorite lady there (early 50′s, skinny legs, round upper body, spectacular smile, laugh that flows freely), Phyllis, accidentally overheard me talking with the members of my team about anal sex. My teammates are VERY good friends of mine and no subject is off limits, so although the location was bizarre, it really wasn’t an unusual conversation for us.
Someone shared a funny story about ass lube and I blurted out, “My biggest problem with anal sex is that I need to bleach my butt so that it is pink & pretty like the girls in the movies!”
Yeah, this was just about the time that Phyl walked over. She heard a teammate ask me about the bleach and I said that I wasn’t sure about it, but that I had heard the porn stars use some sort of anal bleach to make their asses look good on camera. Phyl’s mouth dropped. Then the questions started flying at me.
How have you even seen it to know? Are you talking hair or skin? Does it hurt? Who is looking at your butthole anyhow? Do porn stars really bleach their asses? Where does one buy ass bleach?
Imagine your mom asking you these questions. Yeah, I stammered out, “Ummm. Well. See, a long time ago we, well not WE as in this crew we, but we as in me and the man we. Well, we sort of were taking photos of different ummmm, action shots. And. Well. Ummm, yeah. I was looking at the photos taken from a certain angle where ummm. Yeah. Ummmm, the ass in the air and shoulders on the bed sort of let my butt be VERY seen. Yeah. And I didn’t exactly like what I saw coz it didn’t look like it does on tv.”
Phyl was blown away. She said that her husband would never look at her butt, no one looks at their woman’s butt, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. When I pointed out that obviously he could see it if the fucking camera saw it, her face fell. I started hearing questions about could she see her ass if she looked in a mirror and I couldn’t stop cracking up. Next thing I know, Phyl has called over a few of her girlfriends who are VERY interested in this “need” for anal bleaching. We are all laughing and having a good time, even though it was just insanely weird that I had just met these women three weeks ago and only see them once a week.
I reassured everyone that I was not bleaching my ass. “Look, I won’t even bleach my teeth because I am afraid of mouth cancer or something bizarre, do you really think I am gonna bleach my butt?”
Flash forward a week. As soon as I walk into bowling I am jumped by one of Phyl’s friends who wants to tell me that, although she was afraid to google “anal bleach” at work, she had her hair dresser do it for her and there is a real product out there for butt bleaching. “Yeah, I know. I’ve googled it also. Don’t know if it works, but it exists.”
Then it comes out that all of the women apparently went home and started asking their husbands questions about the color of their buttholes. (hehe!) Husbands want to know if they are having affairs and if their new boyfriends are commenting on the color of their asses. Most don’t believe that bowling alley conversations go down this particular kind of gutter. Ha! I’ve never bowled with these folks before, but I think some of the husbands will be showing up next week.
ANYHOW, on to the embarrassing story.
I had seen a photo that made my VERY pale Irish / Polish self not exactly happy. Had no idea that the skin around my anus was a darker color than any other part of me and I was not especially thrilled. So the next time I am at AdultMart I am walking around with an arm full of items to be purchased and sort of as nonchalantly as possible looking for a container of anal bleach. Tube? Tub? Gel? Cream? Spray on? Hell, I don’t know. For that matter, I don’t even know if anal bleach exists. I am uncomfortable enough being in AdultMart alone, this is awkward to have strangers know what kinds of sexually related things I am buying. While I am an open book to friends (and now the entire internet), for some reason having employees and other shoppers at AdultMart know what I am buying is embarrassing.
Just as I am about to give up and buy only what I have in my arms, a female employee came over saying, “Are you finding everything that you are looking for?”
Deep breath. You can do this. Just say it.
“Actually, no. I’m don’t seem to be able to find the anal bleach.”
“The what?”
Oh fuck, I said that clearly. I didn’t stutter or stammer. Damn. Does it even exist? “The anal bleach. I am not finding the butt bleach.”
Kindly, she says “Never heard of it. Why would you need such a thing?”
Without hesitation I blurt out, “Coz my butt is browner than I would like.”
Confused look on her pretty face gets even more befuddled as she says, “What is wrong with that? Why wouldn’t it be brown?”
It was then that I realized she was not pale and Irish like me, but instead African American and therefore dark brown all over.
“Fuck. Nevermind. HERE!”
Oh how fucking embarrassing. I shoved everything in my arms at her and all but ran out of that store.
So there you have it, dear internet. There are things that embarrass even me. If you could please tell me that something so stupid has also happened to you, it would make me feel better about posting all of this!
And go…
« Previous Page
