Wax on / Wax off

Summer is here and the livin’ is easy. And with that, a return to shorts, skirts and swimsuits. It also means a return to shaving above the knee. I’ve even had a date so who knows what may happen. I certainly don’t want to get caught looking like Miranda. Maybe its something along the line of if you shave it maybe they will come. (No pun intended you dirtied minded people!)

I was browsing the Target isles getting all my summer necessaries (shaving crème, razors, suntan lotion, aloe, gossip magazines) and I saw the section for self waxing. I’ve done biking waxing at the salon and the benefits (longer lasting, better looking) outweigh the discomfort. At least its no worse than cramps, mammogram, childbirth or any of the other female infirmities (or indignities) we suffer.

It didn’t seem that hard or complicated. Slap on some wax, apply the film and yank. As I stare at the boxes on the shelve I come up with the brilliant idea, I can do this myself. It will save me time (no extra trip to salon) and money (another $40 in my pocket for shoes). I buy the organic waxing kit designed especially for the bikini line.

Tuesday night I get myself all prepared. Heated wax – check. Popsicle stick thingies – check. Wax film – check. I put on the first layer of wax. Lay my film on it and count to three 1..2..3.. and rip. And what do I get. Nothing. Not one single hair came off. I grab the instructions with visual diagrams. Now that’s something a man would never do! The instructions even have a little troubleshooting guide (which appeals to my logical sensibilities). My problem is that I’m possibly applying too much was or not leaving it on long enough.

Clean off round one and get ready for my do over. I spread the wax thinner, leave the film on longer 1..2..3..4..5 and yank. Oh My F-ing God! My eyes begin to water. I’m seeing stars. I look down and though some is gone I didn’t come close to getting everything. What I did get for sure was a huge red welt. Although I usually consider myself to be of above average intelligence apparently the pain has effect my ability to reason so I apply wax to the other side and 1..2..3.. yank. I think I’m near to fainting. Again, there still some left. So with tears running down my face and now there’s ringing in my ears, I continue to repeat the process. This hurts more than having plucked each hair one at a time. I know because this is what I eventually did.

Chad comes to the bathroom door and knocked at one point. “Mom, what are you doing? Are you ok?”. “Call the ambulance, my crotch is on fire and I’m bleeding to death” is what I want to say. But I just choked back another sob and said “I’m fine I’ll be out in a bit”.

I eventually stopped bleeding but I’ve got bruises along my bikini line. There should be a warning on those boxes. Do NOT try this at home. Unless you are a trained professional or sadomasochist or can’t feel pain below the waste. I shared my story with my aesthetician and when she stopped laughing at me she scheduled my next waxing appointment.

Fan or Stalker?

My likes and dislikes tend to run long and deep.  I am consistent and loyal in them.  When I like something I REALLY like something (i.e.  Dear Dirk, Donny Osmond).   I’ve looked up the definitions to fan, stalker and obsession and parts of each apply.  Fan – an enthusiastic devotee (definitely).  Stalker – someone who prowls or sneaks about; usually with unlawful intentions (ok I don’t have unlawful intentions only immoral).  Obsession – unhealthy and compulsive preoccupation with something or someone (ok its not unhealthy but it may be bit compulsive.)

 This weekend one of my favorite band, Seven Nations, were in Arlington to play the Scottish Festival for 3 nights!  I love them sooo much!   I’ve followed (I like that better than stalked) for years and have seen them play in Austin, Vegas and Dallas and where I originally found them at the Texas Scottish Festival in Arlington (things have come full circle).   Its been years since I’ve seen them play live and I didn’t want to miss anything so after much begging, pleading, cajoling and ultimately threatening I managed to get someone to go with me. 

 

 

 

Friday night Mojo (aka Curry) was dragged along.  Lucky for me they served (only) British/Irish beers.  Mojo likes a Guiness.  I’ve found that if you can keep your friends slightly inebriated they tend to go along with things much easier.   After strolling the festival a bit, and making friends with the boy (Jamey) at the beer tent we take second row seats.

 

 

 

 … ok slight story detour… Seven Nations is probably best described a Celtic Rock Band they play a lot of Scottish/Irish type festivals.  They are a little more rock then something like the Corrs and less Celtic then bands like the Kildares.  Its not Riverdance either.  Its hard to explain but its awesome you should check them out yourself on google or myspace.

 

 

 

I actually spied him earlier in the evening and even just looking at him gave me butterflies.  I love Seven Nations and I love the music but my favorite part of Seven Nations is Struby the bass player.  I LOOOVVVVEEEEE Struby.  I have had a long standing crush on him ever since the first time I saw them play.  The great thing about festivals is that you can usually get up close and meet the band and I’ve actually met a number of the guys on several occasions but I’ve never been able to talk to Struby.  It’s the Miley Cyrus thing.  I get so shy and nervous. 

 

 

 

So sat I’m just sitting there worshiping him as I always do.  Mo and Jamey are trying to pressure me to go up but I just can’t.  As I said before,  (reference Miley Cyrus blog) sometimes the fantasy is better than the reality.  I’ve now had 7 years of great fantasy.  Do you think I would give all that up for one night of hot, steaming, pull my hair, say my name, make the handcuff tighter passion?  Hell yea I would!  But that’s not gonna happen so at least I can keep the fantasy alive for another 5 years.  I’m going to be the oldest woman on the planet stalking bands and writing blogs about boys.  If I don’t do this what else do I have?  Purple jackets and red hats?

 

 

 

Saturday night I went with my respectable married couple set of friends.  Little worried since Roger only drinks Coors light and I knew there wasn’t going to be anything for him.  Quick trip to the liquor store and some miniature bottles of rum and the night was set.  Another two hours of staring at Struby, Struby, Struby and we called it an evening.  Did I mention I love Struby?  Ok, just checking.  (p.s. Daisy thanks for pictures.  Pic1 – Struby, Pic2 – Struby, Pic3 – Struby, etc. etc.  They are perfect!  Send me yours!)

 

 

 

Sunday I actually had a date that I somehow convinced to go to concert with me but that felt sort of dirty and wrong.  I felt like I was cheating on Struby and that’s probably not that fair to the date, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  He (the date) was an excellent sport and said aside from the acoustics he even liked the band.  I might even have to give him another chance. 

 

 

 

Although I had a fantastic weekend and saw the band every night I’m bummed because I don’t know when it will happen again.  But I do have flight benefits which mean I could show up just about anywhere in the world they play, and if I maxed out my credit cards and sold my house, I could probably follow them for a year or so before everything ran out.  Surely I would find the nerve to talk to him by then…hmmmmmm.  That would certainly demonstrate my enthusiastic devotion – fan that I am.  And technically its not stalking because I’m not sneaking and they are public places.  The question is would they be flattered or frightened to see me standing in the crowd of every concert?  Would he throw me over his shoulder and ravish me or just call the police?    I need to ponder this….