Wax Schmax

Since last week I wrote about one of the best days of my life I found it fitting to now write about one of the worst.  This event does not qualify as "the worst day of my life" but certainly is in the top five.  This day was the first, and second to last, bikini wax I would ever get.  Bikini waxing has scarred me for life.  My body literally shutters and basically has a grand mal seizure upon spotting hot wax.

The first time I decided to get a bikini wax was when the word "brazilian wax" became a household name.  I've been pretty fearless in my life and this was not even a little scary.  "How convenient," I thought "I do not have to shave, for like, weeks."  So I skipped on into a salon that had a good reputation.  What I did not know was that their reputation had recently kamakazied into shitty-ass-salon status.  My waxer, we'll call SATAN, brought me into a room, and literally threw see-through, blue gauze, disposable underwear at me.  She said "put these on" and shut the door.  Ummm, shouldn't I at least get a "Hi how are you?", a "welcome to the salon", a "I'm about to destroy your vagina"...something?  Words, use your words, SATAN. 

It's times like these I truly wish I listened to my inner fear child.  I picture a really cute, little furry (fitting) creature shaking and hugging itself in my head saying "Get out! Get out!".  But I told the creature to "Man-up, this is... ahhhhh... normal."  I sat in the room with these creepy diaper, disposable underoos on awaiting SATAN's return.  When she came in I don't recall eye contact but she said "lay back", and went to the waxing.  I'm not even sure it would constitute for waxing as much as Chinese torture.  With each pull there was a half second delay before the pain would hit me so hard I thought I would go into shock.  And just as I would recover from that strip she would yank on another.  I couldn't even get a "Ahh Kelly Clarkson" out. 

I was afraid that when I stood up I would have no more skin left and I'd be able to see my uterus.  She left as quickly as she came in and thankfully so.  I was really close to punching her in her vagina.  I was sweaty, my eyes were bloodshot, and the chick left wax ALL over me.  Nevermind that I looked like Pooh-gone-wild but she didn't even get all the hair.  Feeling like I should file a police report, but too scared to, I walked out to pay and pouted all the way to my car.  I was a little afraid SATAN was gonna jump me in the parking lot.  I called my friend D and asked if my experience was normal.  She howled a "NOOOOOO!" and made me go get a refund. 

Years later I tried one more time at a place a friend referred to me.  It was the same miserable experience except it ended without being slathered with hot wax and all the hair was gone.  So when chicks tell me they get bikini waxes (which comes up more often in conversation than you'd think) I pretty much think they are masochists and like to get knifed in the face as well. 

The Cloud

She woke up hoping this one time the cloud would be gone.  But it wasn't.  It had been with her since her fifteenth day on Earth.  It was an odorless cloud of smoke that just floated around her.  Mostly still unless there was a breeze.  It baffled doctors and after a battery of tests her parents halted the search for the source.  She was sat on the couch at the age of four and told to accept her cloud.  It was part of her and they loved her and her cloud. 

She attended kindergarten and was sent home after the second day.  The principal explained that some of the kids were having allergic reactions to the cloud and it would be better if she was home schooled.  Although she was kept fairly secluded at her her parents' country house she would sometimes have to face the harsh public.  When she was eight years old she convinced her parents to let her ride her bike to the general store to buy some candy.  On the way down the dirt road she came across five older boys.  Her cloud clung to her and trailed off like a comet tail behind her.  The boys all stopped and yelled every mean thing can imagine you would say to someone with a cloud around them.  "Hey Pig Pen!"  "Why don't you take a shower?!"  "Are you on fire?!"  She put her head down, stood up on her bike and peddled back home with tears streaming into the cloud.

As she grew older she came to accept that she had two friends and would never have any more.  They were the only two who were not allergic and did not mind playing in her cloud.  Love was not a consideration for her.  Who would want to live with and love her cloud?  Family parties were planned on good weather days so they could all sit outside in the breeze.  The breeze was her only refuge from the cloud and sometimes, just sometimes, she didn't have a cloud around her.

When she turned twenty-three she decided to move out of her parents' house.  She had earned her college degree online and wanted to attempt a life in the city.  She moved close to the park and got a job telemarketing from home.  A temporary job that would pay some bills until she wrote her first book.  City life proved difficult.  Avoiding stares and blatant gesticulating waves in the subway.  But she learned to press on focusing on her book and the park breeze.

One day in the park, where she went to escape, she felt a breeze so sweet she put her arms out and smiled at the dissipation of her cloud.  As she came over the crest of the hill the breeze grew stronger and forced her to giggles.  Ah free of the cloud.  She closed her eyes and just stood letting the breeze encircle her.  When she looked up to continue on her way a young man was walking towards her.  Around him a breeze swirled and kicked and twisted.  Furrowing her brow trying to figure what kind of wind congregates around one person she came to realize that he had a breeze just as she had a cloud.  They stopped in their tracks and smiled.

New Trash City

I've only been living in Manhattan since April but I must say that this is the dirtiest, most wasteful, most disgusting city I have ever been to. And I say that with love. Here are some examples:

-I live on DogShit Ave. I seriously think it should be named DogShit Ave. What the hell is up with people not picking up their dog's feces? Could 15 people a day really not have bags for their dog's poo or are they just too lazy to bend over and pick it up? What is going through their mind as their dog shits? ooOO No one is looking, SWEET I don't have to pick up his steaming pile of poo in the middle of the sidewalk. An unsuspecting bystander walking to work will accidentally step in it YES! Run Spot run! It's like a goddamn mine field. I'm gonna start a neighborhood watch and if someone doesn't pick-up their poo I'm gonna shoot them with a BB gun. Bitches.

-The other name for my street could be Broken Glass Alley. We have some serious butterfingers, AKA alcoholics, that live around me. Every morning I 'm either pulling my dog away from feces or lifting him over glass. It's like American Gladiators except my opponents are Glass and Shit. I could make a really tricky video game out of my one section of street.

-How many napkins do I need? I know I'm not always put together but every time I get take-out they give me enough napkins to dry off after a shower. Do I look that slobtastic? Probably so, but dang you don't need to give me a lumberjack's days work. And if you get a can of soda anywhere they are going to give it to you in a paper bag, with a straw and a wink. Like "hey lady I can see you are a classy girl so for you...a straw." Thanks dude the only reason why I need a straw is because this soda probably sat under a rat's asshole for weeks on the sidewalk before it made it to my lips.

-New York needs to work on its greeness. I rarely see people bring canvass bags to the grocery store, and if you do the bagger looks at you like you've got vomit all over your face. 8 million people grocery shopping is a hell of a lot of plastic bags. All of my AmeriCorps roomies and friends from SFS Costa Rica are wincing right now. Stay far away friends. It ain't pretty.

-Ahhh the subway. The nation's petri dish of all things gross. I often wish there was some sort of dry disinfecting shower when I exit the train. I swear I can feel the germs all over me as soon as I swipe my card. Insta-filth. I mean people shit, masturbate, spit, vomit and give birth on those trains. Feel gross now? Yeah me too.

So for those visiting New York wear a Hazmat suit. You'll be a lot more comfortable here.

I <3 NY

Poof!

Sweet Jesus.  Words roll right out of my brain and Poof! into nothingness all day long.  Characters.  Poof!  Events.  Poof!  Dialogue.  Poof!  This rush of desire to run and write as if I’ve never written before.  Poof!  As soon as I sit in front of the computer.  I have shut down all the colors, faces, possibilities with one little bit of self-doubt.  Gone all gone.  Where did she go?  The character that was going to tell part of my memoir.  The one that would embarrass myself?  But also bring something to life.  Poof. 

I half expect the typed words to take on different colors and fonts.  For a piece of broccoli to be drawn in the margin as I type.  But alas, everything is in Times New Roman, and 12 font.  Black and White. 

Maybe if I read I will feel re-inspired.  But picking up the book just floods my brain with more words, more ideas and I have stepped away from the computer.  It is not as if I write in my journal with colored pencils that this world is opened up.  It shuts down in the very same manner.  Visions are more beautiful and endless without trying to record them.   But then what do I have to offer?  A fictional, partially non, story and life that only exists in my brain will never be shared.  Will never make me money.  And will also never be criticized. 

But isn’t that why one writes?  To share this other beautiful, crazy scenery you see?  Of course.  But one never wants to be told it could be written better.  Fewer grammatical errors.  Better punctuation.  Therefore I will write without rules.  I will create a style that is my own and everyone who doesn’t like it can go read something else.  Dialogue will take place without quotes.  I will begin and end sentences where I see fit.

This is what makes writers, Writers.  Just like when someone sees a painting and says “I could do that”.  Yeah but you didn’t.  That is what separates Writers and Painters from journal doodlers.  They just do it and do not let this other life Poof!

Paging Dr. Feelgood

I've written about my job before and as you all know I'm not in love with it.  Well two months ago I really fell in love with it (and by fell in love I mean almost quit).  A physician agreed to see me on a Monday.  As I was walking in at 2PM she was walking out.  awesome.  So I was told to come in the next day at 12:30.  I got there at 12:15 and waited until 1PM.  She stuck her head out and said "hi" then went back to her office tucked waaaay in the back, away from my laser eyes.  The receptionist then says "Yaya do you need to see Dr. Asshole (ok not her real name) or can you just leave her something?"  Jigga wha?  Soooo you think I've been sitting here for 45 minutes just to leave a piece of paper, you douchemonkey?  Ok I didn't really say that, I said "Well it's a new study and it will literally take me 25 seconds to explain it."  "Okay" says the receptionist "I'll go tell her".  When the receptionist came back she says to me "Yaya, Dr. Asshole-Shit-For-Brains (forgot she was married) just doesn't have 25 seconds for you today."  I barely squeaked out an "ok" and ran out the door welling up with tears. 

I mean she may as well have kicked me in my who-ha because I was destroyed.  Can you imagine telling someone that you do not have 25 seconds to see them?  After telling them to come back twice?   I currently have a vein poking out of my forehead and this event took place 2 months ago.  So I never went back to that office.

But yesterday something really odd happened.  I got a phone call from one of my pharmacy customers freaking out that Dr. Asshole-Shit-For-Brains was sending in people by the droves to buy my product.

Phone conversation:

me: Hello.
pharmacist: Hey Yaya.  Dr. Asshole-Shit-For-Brains has sent in a ton of patients and I'm almost out of product.  I need to order more now!
me:  So it took you 3 months to get through your first order and now one week for your second?
pharmacist:  Yes.  Dr. Asshole-Shit-For-Brains is sending in patients with a prescription for product X (it's over-the-counter). 
me:  Ok I'll put the order in immediately.

I hang up the phone and am so bewildered as to what happened.  It's like my dating life.  You ignore 'em long enough and they come begging for your goodies.  That is actually an untrue statement.

So I learned a few lessons.  I need to learn patience.  I cannot take customers' actions, like Dr. Asshole-Shit-For-Brains', personally (though I probably always will).  And Earth is a really weird place and the inhabitants behave accordingly. 

Nanu nanu.

P.s. who the hell gets a tattoo of Dr. Mario?  Freaking ass-donkeys.

Oh Glorious Bath

Throughout my life I have had many ups and downs as I know everyone does (except for Miley Cyrus who is always up). What exactly is the reason behind the oscillation? It is certainly too complex to attribute each shift to a single action, thought, or event. I am currently attempting to exit a low point and looking up. Begging for up. Working hard for up.

My friend D called me tonight to ask how I was doing. She was overly worried. I guess now that I am older I am more vocal about how I am feeling and what is truly going on in my life. Maybe I just understand why I feel unrest in the first place. I came to NYC thinking that it was a new life for me full of activities, museums, bands, friends, fun, and men. And that is exactly what it has been. That was when I realized that something is missing. So what am I missing???

Is it that I miss being close to my parents, Nat, and D? But I lived there and was restless. Is it the job? I have no idea what I actually want to do. Is it the desire for a relationship? I love being in love but I also love not having to compromise right now. Do I desire a bun in the oven? Kids scream and I like it quiet right now. Is it the lack of money? That feels like a strong possibility, but I’ve had money (insert obvious Notorious B.I.G. quote here).

With all these questions and discontent I needed to start small to make myself feel a lil better. Oddly enough I started feeling better just by bathing. And I don’t mean showering because I do that every day. I have no choice I am of Scottish and Irish descent. If I do not wash my hair everyday it looks as though I have not washed it in weeks. I digress. I am strictly talking about bathing. The act of drawing a bath, pouring in the fragrant bath salts, lighting a candle, and reading a book. There is something about this act that makes me feel indulgent and pampered. It was when I started bathing that I started to feel like things were important and interesting again. Why? No idea. Sound weird? I know I feel weird writing it. And it’s not like I just discovered what a bath is but for some reason it is pulling the funk right outta me. That actually sounded gross hunh? So if you’re in a funk I prescribe you to go buy some great smelly salts and take a bath.

Maybe while bathing I will figure out what the hell I want. If I could create my destiny, what would it look like? I cannot think of one person I would model my life after so I guess I have to dream up my own. Now that sounds like fun. And yes, I will have an El Camino with a Jacuzzi in the back. Boo ya.

Well Helloooo Kate,

While I was spending my paycheck on some groceries, a magazine cover caught my eye. Kate G. welcome to 2010! Apparently you had a lil new year's resolution of your own hunh? Lemme guess some new extensions perhaps? I see and I applaud. I must question though if you may have gotten a little carried away with your coloring in the back? No matter. I'm so proud you got rid of the Triceratops spikes in the back and the Flock of Seagulls' bangs.

Now who are you going to date? I mean won't most men just wait until the kids are 18? If one owns a t.v. or a computer they would realize that the lil tater tots will hit 18 in about 12 years. Kate, you better hope some man is DYING to get a piece. Otherwise eat yourself silly back to sextuplet weight until 2022.

I wonder if some reality show single man has his eye on you now? Perhaps The Situation? You are not that far from the shore. And we've all seen you in a bikini. Work it. Who else? Maybe you should go on the Bachelor? Omg you would be the queen of the roost. Brody Jenner perhaps? Nah he loves himself a lil too much.

AHA! John Mayer! Omg how could I not see this? He will croon you, mentally abuse you (but make you laugh) then dump your ass like Jon did. Granted he is not a reality star he loooves him the spotlight. And he's hot. High Five.

XOXO

Yaya

Ah-Mazing Spoofing

I'm not totally ashamed to admit I'm into the whole Twilight thing. I must confess the books were great and I shed a tear once I finished Breaking Dawn. If I were grading the movies I would give them a B. I'll watch 'em but I'm not casting a vote for The People's Choice Awards (well if I ever were to actually vote).

Anyway this spoof video makes me laugh. Like all the best stuff, it's best enjoyed after multiple viewings and with an audience. You're welcome.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sILnTjYlNxc

New Year's Resolutions

I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions. This is because I assume I will break them by January 2nd. But this year I will join the millions who hope to alter their behavior, for good, as of January 1, 2010.

I have been a smoker since the age of 18. On and off for years and mostly triggered by any number of alcoholic beverages. A sip is enough for my brain to recognize that something is amiss. Some synapses will fire off some chemicals and I get a little twitchy. By the end of the beer I am excusing myself to the nearest bodega to pay $11 for something that will do nothing but ease my discomfort and slowly kill me. As you have read before I blame a lot of my substandard behavior on booze. You're probably thinking I should just stop drinking. And if you are thinking that you should probably start reading a different blog because we will never get each other. However, I do plan on cutting down on the amount I drink but I'm not giving up the sauce completely. I just am giving up the justification to smoke because I'm half in the bag (or simply looking at the bag).

It all started at the age of 18 because my college boyfriend and best friend both smoked daily. People were actually shocked when they found out I smoked. "You smoke?! I never woulda pinned you as a smoker." I used to get that same reaction from people when I told them I was agnostic. "You're what?! I thought you were a Christian." Why anyone would make any assumptions about my lifestyle beats me. It's like saying to them "You watched Alf?! I never woulda pinned you as an Alf watcher. More like an A-Team fan." Yeah well guess what, you don't know me. And it was the tone associated with it. Complete disgust. Like they just found out I was an axe murderer and had taken-out half my town. I digress.

I never considered myself a smoker but since I actually put cigs in my mouth, light them up, and inhale the wondrous nicotine and 599 other chemicals (some sites claim 4,000), I am in fact a smoker. So I am going on the record that I am going to give up the little bundles of cancer for good.

While I was being introspective I decided to try and resolve a few other things:

2-Cut down on the hooch
3-Lose weight
4-Run more
5-Take better care of skin and hair
6-Stop Face Book stalking. It may, in fact, be ruining my life
7-Be more tolerant of idiots and A-holes.
8-Start dating more. Um not sure how this is going to happen since I NEVER ask guys out. Hmmm suggestions?
9-Forgive and FORGET the exes.
10-Stop drunk texting and Face Booking (see #2 & #6 & #9)
11-Focus on today and not so much on tomorrow. Oh wait but Jersey Shore is on tomorrow. Can't wait for that!!!
12-Seriously stay within budget and don't try to justify purchases. I mean my pup Oscar could use a pair of shoes though. His lil Mexican feet get cold and there is a serious broken glass problem on my street.
13-Start keeping up with the New York Times. It's awkward NEVER knowing what is going on in the world outside of me ZZzzzzzzz. Oops I'm awake.
14-Be better about completing the items on my to do list. First being to actually read the list rather than just writing stuff down and never looking over it.
15-Let go of the goal of being either a pop star or a half-pipe snowboarding gold medalist. Self: you missed the boat.
16-Buy Rock Band and the X-Box 360 so I can live out #15 in the comfort of my own home. Oh wait #12 is yelling at me.

And Lastly,
16-Stop being so hard on myself. Maybe I should get a drink. Oooh and a smoke.

I will hang in there and not stop dreaming Richard Simmons.

J. No No No

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeeVjmAkEqA

Last night I was watching the So You Think You Can Dance finale and I was irritated about 2 things 1) Jakob did not win (although way to represent Boston Russell!) b) J. Lo's lip syncing and Louboutin song was atrocious. I mean I know you're a fly girl and you need to dance while you sing but holy lord J. Lo you need to work on the lip syncing. Or how about you dance less and sing live? The whole performance I spent looking through my fingers in horror. She was lip syncing and still sounded horrible.

And your song is retarded. "But it's the last time, I'm movin' on, I'm throwing on my Louboutins." "Watch these Red bottoms, And the back of my jeans." Seriously? The song is pathetic. Never mind that it stole these lyrics "I'm just a part time lover" and "Don't know what you got until it's gone". VOMIT! I know I've been a hater lately but this song just put me over the edge. First of all because I'm sick of idiot chicks talking about, "you know...the shoes with the red bottoms". Those shoes are designed by Christian Louboutin. Know why they have a red bottom? He was inspired by a drawing of a shoe with a red line through the heel. Know why people buy his shoes? a)they are gorgeous b) they are a status symbol like a Louis Vuitton bag.

J. Lo we do not need lil girls singing about leaving their creep boyfriends in $700 shoes. We are in a recession. Shit I would own every pair I could get my hands on if I could afford them, but I can't. Nor can most people. So can't we just leave them where they belong? They belong in fashion, on the runway, on people who can afford them, on celebrities, and on Madison Ave where I ogle them and walk away. I had a pair back when they were $400. But then I came to my senses and returned the money pits to Neiman where a much richer person could give them the one or two wears they deserved. If I had kept them I would have worn them to the gym, to clean my house, and to get the mail in jammies.

And don't walk away with just your Louboutins and jeans. Walk away with the 50" screen plasma and his wallet. Make a real statement.

I'm not a Louboutin hater (o'contraire) I am a "J. Lo are you freaking serious?" hater. Take Skeletor, AKA your hubby, and sing some ballads about your incomprehensible love of each other. Oh P.S. "Love?" is a great title for your latest CD J. Lo...guess what Bel, Biv, Devoe's is also called "Love". And I sure as hell would take some of their "Poison" over your craptastic "Louboutins". Stick to dancing in your Louboutins I'm gonna take the cotton out from my bleeding ears.

Yes I'm that disgusted.