**A warning to my father--and everyone else, for that matter--that I discuss my hoo-hoo (and more) below**
Money is pretty tight these days, so it is a rare and wonderful treat to go in for waxing. Gone are the days when I went to the little Vietnamese salon down the street to see the lovely and always surprising Penny (read about examples of that here and here).
No, no. Once I got serious about the waxing of the vagina I started investing in a nice salon--one with bright lights and numbing spray and fancy purple wax. Stephanie is now my go-to girl for my hair removal needs.
I love Stephanie. She is also a lawyer who volunteers her time in the public defender's office. She is interesting to talk to, has an amazing memory for the random things I've told her, and makes the scary and potentially humiliating experience of a Brazilian bikini wax almost...enjoyable. This time, as with last time, I decided to really go for it--have her take it all off. No landing strips; there are no airplanes here. Get this shit OFF.
So yesterday Stephanie finished up the entire front area and was ready to work on the "back door" as she calls it. I took a sip from my glass of wine for strength and sustenance.
"Can you lay on your stomach and reach both hands back and spread your butt cheeks for me?"
I laughed nervously while getting into the requested position and said, "I am pretty sure no one has ever asked me to do this before."
"Well, at least now you know you can," she answered as she worked. "This way, if we're ever taken over by aliens and this is your only way to eat, you know you can do it."
What?
Showing posts with label wax on/wax off. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wax on/wax off. Show all posts
May 1, 2011
July 6, 2010
Headin' down to Brazil
Inspired by my friend B's success and relatively minor pain, I've decided to get my first Brazilian bikini wax. Appointment scheduled for Saturday afternoon. This is not a job for Penny, my old Vietnamese waxing friend. I'm paying to go to a nice place. 'Cause I'm skeered.
January 23, 2010
Three three
I'm a little late with this post. I think it is a good thing.
So I just turned 33 yesterday, and usually I am feeling quite nostalgic and write a rather reflective blog post. You can read those from years past by searching the tag "feliz cumpleanos a tu" if you're looking for some type of self-flagellation aside from reading this blog, in general. And who am I kidding anyway: almost ALL of my blogs are nostalgic and reflective. This year felt different. (Although it started off as par for the course.)
To begin with, I dreamed** about C. Now I should say that anytime I go on a date--irrespective of how good, bad, dull, or uneventful it is--my dreams take me to him. This one was particularly affecting.
**Brief dream aside: I came home to an apartment that was somewhere in the middle. It was a combination of all the apartments I've ever had in Richmond and San Francisco. He was waiting at the door for me with quiet brown eyes. I felt a rush of relief and said, "I knew you'd come." I unlocked the door and let us inside, and we sat down and looked at each other. The years apart left us unsure of how to interact, of how familiar it was acceptable to be. I started by asking him questions. "What have been your favorite movies that came out in the last three years?" We described our favorites to each other and I saw his favorites through his eyes and he saw mine through my eyes. I didn't want to know who he'd been with, who he'd loved or cried over; I was just so happy he was there. I hugged him and he said, "This feels so natural."
I woke grateful to have dreamed of him, and happy that I had taken the day off and allowed myself to sleep in. I decided to buy myself a birthday present.
I got a pedicure. I also decided at the last minute to get my eyebrows waxed. As I lay down on the table, my Vietnamese waxer lady said, "Why you neva wax mustache?"
I got some kind of crazy fancy new phone that I can use as a camera and video camera, and can use to access the internet as well as other regular phone things. (Look out Twitter and Facebook! Now I can write status updates and tweets all the time.)
I had Vietnamese spring rolls.
I had a brief nap, and I lay thinking about birthdays past**.
**Brief birthdays past aside: I remember on my 3rd birthday, my mom and I lived in our apartment on Broadway--the one with the cockroaches. My two major impressions of that birthday are, 1) I got roller skates that clamped on over my shoes, and 2) my grandpa and uncle taught me how to rub a balloon against my hair and make it stick to the wall. (My hair thus ended the night in particularly rare form.) I remembered my 13th birthday when I cried because I felt like I was leaving my childhood behind. (Yes, melodramatic and emotional from the start--that is yours truly.) I remembered my 23rd birthday in 2000 when I talked to my father for the last time for the following three years.
When I woke, the mail had come. Danita, C's mom, had sent me a beautiful card, and my old friend from Shepherd, Sally, had sent me a package that she put an awful lot of thought and effort into. I held them both and sat a cried with the emotion of being thought of and remembered by these two wonderful women.
I went out to The Orbit Room and to Pauline's pizza with four dear friends and had a lovely time. As one should on her birthday, I completely overindulged and ended up ill and in bed, being sung to over the phone by Miss Mary Smucker.
I felt loved.
So I just turned 33 yesterday, and usually I am feeling quite nostalgic and write a rather reflective blog post. You can read those from years past by searching the tag "feliz cumpleanos a tu" if you're looking for some type of self-flagellation aside from reading this blog, in general. And who am I kidding anyway: almost ALL of my blogs are nostalgic and reflective. This year felt different. (Although it started off as par for the course.)
To begin with, I dreamed** about C. Now I should say that anytime I go on a date--irrespective of how good, bad, dull, or uneventful it is--my dreams take me to him. This one was particularly affecting.
**Brief dream aside: I came home to an apartment that was somewhere in the middle. It was a combination of all the apartments I've ever had in Richmond and San Francisco. He was waiting at the door for me with quiet brown eyes. I felt a rush of relief and said, "I knew you'd come." I unlocked the door and let us inside, and we sat down and looked at each other. The years apart left us unsure of how to interact, of how familiar it was acceptable to be. I started by asking him questions. "What have been your favorite movies that came out in the last three years?" We described our favorites to each other and I saw his favorites through his eyes and he saw mine through my eyes. I didn't want to know who he'd been with, who he'd loved or cried over; I was just so happy he was there. I hugged him and he said, "This feels so natural."
I woke grateful to have dreamed of him, and happy that I had taken the day off and allowed myself to sleep in. I decided to buy myself a birthday present.
I got a pedicure. I also decided at the last minute to get my eyebrows waxed. As I lay down on the table, my Vietnamese waxer lady said, "Why you neva wax mustache?"
I got some kind of crazy fancy new phone that I can use as a camera and video camera, and can use to access the internet as well as other regular phone things. (Look out Twitter and Facebook! Now I can write status updates and tweets all the time.)
I had Vietnamese spring rolls.
I had a brief nap, and I lay thinking about birthdays past**.
**Brief birthdays past aside: I remember on my 3rd birthday, my mom and I lived in our apartment on Broadway--the one with the cockroaches. My two major impressions of that birthday are, 1) I got roller skates that clamped on over my shoes, and 2) my grandpa and uncle taught me how to rub a balloon against my hair and make it stick to the wall. (My hair thus ended the night in particularly rare form.) I remembered my 13th birthday when I cried because I felt like I was leaving my childhood behind. (Yes, melodramatic and emotional from the start--that is yours truly.) I remembered my 23rd birthday in 2000 when I talked to my father for the last time for the following three years.
When I woke, the mail had come. Danita, C's mom, had sent me a beautiful card, and my old friend from Shepherd, Sally, had sent me a package that she put an awful lot of thought and effort into. I held them both and sat a cried with the emotion of being thought of and remembered by these two wonderful women.
I went out to The Orbit Room and to Pauline's pizza with four dear friends and had a lovely time. As one should on her birthday, I completely overindulged and ended up ill and in bed, being sung to over the phone by Miss Mary Smucker.
I felt loved.
September 5, 2008
"I no mean to hurt you."
On my way home today I thought it would be fun to get some hair ripped out of me by the roots. So I went to my little neighborhood Vietnamese salon to see my favorite esthetician, Penny. I was way overdue. For everything.
When I came in, I motioned to my eyebrows and one of the other employees cried, "Penny!"
Penny was washing her hands in a back room and she poked her head around the corner and grinned at me. "You want bikini wax?" she called across the salon. An old man getting a pedicure rolled his head in my direction with mild interest. She didn't wait for my answer, thank God, but wiped her hands on a towel and, flushing, I followed her upstairs.
The little waxing room at the top of the stairs was hot, and she pulled out a fan saying, "Oh, my God. You going to die here."
I laughed and said, "Penny, I think I want to get my legs done today but I don't know the hair's long enough."
She furrowed her brow. "Why you shave?!" she demanded.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "I have to shave."
"Take pants off," she demanded. "I look." And then she continued with her previous thought, "No shave. Make you feel like rubber. And hard."
I didn't really know what she was talking about, but I giggled while I took of my jeans. Penny handed me a Hello Kitty pillow to lay back on, and leaned down to examine my legs. "I don't know. I try. Is baby hairs. I try. Be good girl." Then she set to work. This woman takes her job very seriously. She applied wax, ripped it off, and turned my leg every imaginable angle to examine the thoroughness of her work.
For some reason, I imagined that since the last time I was here I had a bikini wax that I could handle anything. I was wrong.
"Oh, motherfucker!" I cried after a particularly painful strip was pulled off of the inside of my calf.
"Sssshhh....be good girl. Beautiful girl. I no mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt you." I couldn't help but collapse into laughter. I admit that with the fan blowing my hair in all directions I felt a bit like a fashion model getting waxing done. Or possibly a porn star. I'm not sure if the Hello Kitty pillow added to or detracted from that mental image.
"You a very good girl," Penny assured me. "You no make no noise. Some girls, they very loud. Ouchy, ouchy, ouchy!" she cried, in a high-pitched voice, imitating these theoretical girls.
"Penny, are you crazy? I'm scream every time you pull it off!" she snickered and I got a glimpse of her sarcastic side as she went at it again, RRRRRIIIIIPPPP!
"Owwww!" I cried, biting down on my hand.
"You know why it hurt?" she asked.
"Why?" I was expecting some interesting piece of waxing trivia.
"Because I pull out hairs," she said simply. This time I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but I burst into laughter anyway.
"No more shave," she admonished again. "You come to me. I make nice. So smooth. So beautiful."
"Is it coming out okay?" I propped myself up on my elbows to have a look. "Are the hairs long enough that they're coming out?"
"Is eighty percent," she said, showing me a strip of used wax. "See? Baby hairs."
"But I don't want to wait four weeks to get the rest out!" I protested. "I go to the pool and I don't want to be all gross with my hairy legs."
"You suck up," she said firmly.
I tried another tactic. "But what if, let's say, I start dating someone and I don't want to wait four weeks to come back?"
She looked at me sternly. "Is another story! Don't make me mad!"
"What?" I asked in confusion.
"Don't make me mad! Date is another story!" she said again. (I have absolutely no idea what this meant, but she didn't seem to want to talk about it.)
Next she did my eyebrows, and while she was applying the wax she scolded me--as usual--for waiting so long to have them done. "Is like bush," she said. After ripping the wax off she sighed with pleasure, "Finally, I can see eyes."
We finished up, and I got up to get dressed again. "No bikini wax?" she asked.
"Noooo....not today. Too much waxing. Maybe next time."
"Next time we go deeper," she reminded me with a smile.
When I came in, I motioned to my eyebrows and one of the other employees cried, "Penny!"
Penny was washing her hands in a back room and she poked her head around the corner and grinned at me. "You want bikini wax?" she called across the salon. An old man getting a pedicure rolled his head in my direction with mild interest. She didn't wait for my answer, thank God, but wiped her hands on a towel and, flushing, I followed her upstairs.
The little waxing room at the top of the stairs was hot, and she pulled out a fan saying, "Oh, my God. You going to die here."
I laughed and said, "Penny, I think I want to get my legs done today but I don't know the hair's long enough."
She furrowed her brow. "Why you shave?!" she demanded.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "I have to shave."
"Take pants off," she demanded. "I look." And then she continued with her previous thought, "No shave. Make you feel like rubber. And hard."
I didn't really know what she was talking about, but I giggled while I took of my jeans. Penny handed me a Hello Kitty pillow to lay back on, and leaned down to examine my legs. "I don't know. I try. Is baby hairs. I try. Be good girl." Then she set to work. This woman takes her job very seriously. She applied wax, ripped it off, and turned my leg every imaginable angle to examine the thoroughness of her work.
For some reason, I imagined that since the last time I was here I had a bikini wax that I could handle anything. I was wrong.
"Oh, motherfucker!" I cried after a particularly painful strip was pulled off of the inside of my calf.
"Sssshhh....be good girl. Beautiful girl. I no mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt you." I couldn't help but collapse into laughter. I admit that with the fan blowing my hair in all directions I felt a bit like a fashion model getting waxing done. Or possibly a porn star. I'm not sure if the Hello Kitty pillow added to or detracted from that mental image.
"You a very good girl," Penny assured me. "You no make no noise. Some girls, they very loud. Ouchy, ouchy, ouchy!" she cried, in a high-pitched voice, imitating these theoretical girls.
"Penny, are you crazy? I'm scream every time you pull it off!" she snickered and I got a glimpse of her sarcastic side as she went at it again, RRRRRIIIIIPPPP!
"Owwww!" I cried, biting down on my hand.
"You know why it hurt?" she asked.
"Why?" I was expecting some interesting piece of waxing trivia.
"Because I pull out hairs," she said simply. This time I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but I burst into laughter anyway.
"No more shave," she admonished again. "You come to me. I make nice. So smooth. So beautiful."
"Is it coming out okay?" I propped myself up on my elbows to have a look. "Are the hairs long enough that they're coming out?"
"Is eighty percent," she said, showing me a strip of used wax. "See? Baby hairs."
"But I don't want to wait four weeks to get the rest out!" I protested. "I go to the pool and I don't want to be all gross with my hairy legs."
"You suck up," she said firmly.
I tried another tactic. "But what if, let's say, I start dating someone and I don't want to wait four weeks to come back?"
She looked at me sternly. "Is another story! Don't make me mad!"
"What?" I asked in confusion.
"Don't make me mad! Date is another story!" she said again. (I have absolutely no idea what this meant, but she didn't seem to want to talk about it.)
Next she did my eyebrows, and while she was applying the wax she scolded me--as usual--for waiting so long to have them done. "Is like bush," she said. After ripping the wax off she sighed with pleasure, "Finally, I can see eyes."
We finished up, and I got up to get dressed again. "No bikini wax?" she asked.
"Noooo....not today. Too much waxing. Maybe next time."
"Next time we go deeper," she reminded me with a smile.
April 19, 2008
April 18, 2008
"You're so beautiful..."
I wrote recently about my last trip to Penny, my Vietnamese waxing lady, and the taming of my eyebrows. She was encouraging me at the time to get a bikini wax, and I wanted to think about it more.
Well, I went for it.
Holy shit. It was a very strange and painful experience.
To begin with, at the salon I go to, the ladies sing out a greeting to you as you walk in the door and call out to ask you what you want. It's a fairly humbling experience to make a public proclamation of your desire for a bikini wax. I was prepared for this, but I was unprepared for the excitement it seemed to generate. Three ladies started shouting instructions to each other in Vietnamese, and my trusty Penny came forward to assure me: "Ten minutes. I get everything ready. Be good."
When she came back to get me, she gave a moment of privacy in the little waxing room with her version of instructions to take off my pants--she made a swish sound as she acted out the dropping of one's drawers. I giggled nervously.
Penny came back and said, "You lay down. I have look." Obediently, I laid back, feeling weirdly vulnerable as she eyed me critically under the bright lights. "Oh my God!" she cried in mock horror. "Out of control!" I couldn't help laughing out loud in amusement and embarrassment while protesting, "Stop that!"
I confided, "I'm really nervous."
"No worry," she answered. "Baby hurt much worse."
"I've never had a baby."
"Uh oh," Penny said. "No, no. Is okay. I make nice," and set to work.
There was no room for modesty. She put me into all sorts of strange contortions and focused very intently on the business at hand. After each rip she insisted on showing me each cloth strip and saying, "See? So nice now!" A couple of times I yelped in surprise and pain, "FUCK!" only to temper it with, "I'm so sorry, Penny!"
She patted my crotch and crooned, "Is normal. Is okay. Be good girl for me. Just for me." Then she bent down for the next round and began to sing softly, "You're so beautiful....to meeeee..." At this point I cracked up.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finished and she rubbed lotion all over me. This was a very strange experience. Then she instructed me to stand up and let her have a look at me. I stood carefully, feeling rather raw, and she knelt down on the floor directly in front of me and studied her work closely. "Mmmhmmm...mmmhmmm..." she mumbled, crawling on the floor and gazing up at me from all angles.
When I got the all clear, I gratefully reached for my pants and Penny said, "Next time, we go much deeper," and went downstairs to ring me up. This felt like a very strange way to end the experience, but I got dressed, went downstairs, and gave her a great tip.
"Next time much deeper!" she called after me as I went out the front door.
Well, I went for it.
Holy shit. It was a very strange and painful experience.
To begin with, at the salon I go to, the ladies sing out a greeting to you as you walk in the door and call out to ask you what you want. It's a fairly humbling experience to make a public proclamation of your desire for a bikini wax. I was prepared for this, but I was unprepared for the excitement it seemed to generate. Three ladies started shouting instructions to each other in Vietnamese, and my trusty Penny came forward to assure me: "Ten minutes. I get everything ready. Be good."
When she came back to get me, she gave a moment of privacy in the little waxing room with her version of instructions to take off my pants--she made a swish sound as she acted out the dropping of one's drawers. I giggled nervously.
Penny came back and said, "You lay down. I have look." Obediently, I laid back, feeling weirdly vulnerable as she eyed me critically under the bright lights. "Oh my God!" she cried in mock horror. "Out of control!" I couldn't help laughing out loud in amusement and embarrassment while protesting, "Stop that!"
I confided, "I'm really nervous."
"No worry," she answered. "Baby hurt much worse."
"I've never had a baby."
"Uh oh," Penny said. "No, no. Is okay. I make nice," and set to work.
There was no room for modesty. She put me into all sorts of strange contortions and focused very intently on the business at hand. After each rip she insisted on showing me each cloth strip and saying, "See? So nice now!" A couple of times I yelped in surprise and pain, "FUCK!" only to temper it with, "I'm so sorry, Penny!"
She patted my crotch and crooned, "Is normal. Is okay. Be good girl for me. Just for me." Then she bent down for the next round and began to sing softly, "You're so beautiful....to meeeee..." At this point I cracked up.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finished and she rubbed lotion all over me. This was a very strange experience. Then she instructed me to stand up and let her have a look at me. I stood carefully, feeling rather raw, and she knelt down on the floor directly in front of me and studied her work closely. "Mmmhmmm...mmmhmmm..." she mumbled, crawling on the floor and gazing up at me from all angles.
When I got the all clear, I gratefully reached for my pants and Penny said, "Next time, we go much deeper," and went downstairs to ring me up. This felt like a very strange way to end the experience, but I got dressed, went downstairs, and gave her a great tip.
"Next time much deeper!" she called after me as I went out the front door.
March 25, 2008
Penny and Fun With Food Coloring
(Two completely unrelated subjects, incidentally.)
I don’t wear a lot of make-up or spend a lot of money on clothes, but one thing I DO do is get my eyebrows waxed. I always thought it seemed silly and pointless—that is, I thought this until I saw how lovely my eyebrows could look when cleaned up and shaped a bit. They’re not horrid in their natural state: I don’t have a unibrow and they’re not too caterpillar-like. But they look so much better when I get them waxed.
Penny has been doing my eyebrows for a couple of years now. She is a little Vietnamese lady at a small salon near my house, and she cracks me up. She always yells at me because, instead of getting them done every four weeks like I’m supposed to, I often end up waiting six weeks.
This time I had gone a full eight weeks and I knew she would let me have it. She did.
I stopped at the salon today on my way home from work, and as soon as I walked in she took one look at me and said scoldingly, “Oh, my God. I know why you here.” As she escorted me back to the waxing room, a large African American man with a lot of bling was getting a manicure, and he said, “Hey, Penny! You’re looking beautiful today!” She never even glanced at him and snapped, “You be quiet or I get my stick!”
As I lay down in the reclining chair, she shook her head and said of my eyebrows, “Is like garden!” I apologized profusely, saying, “I’m sorry, Penny! I’ve been busy and I haven’t had time to come in.”
She asked, “How long you not come back?”
Sheepishly I answered, “Eight weeks.”
Penny stirred her wax and said, “I make nice. Take long time.”
After she ripped the first piece of wax off and I yelped in startled pain, she said unsympathetically, “Maybe next time you not wait so long. Not hurt so much.”
“Okay, okay!” I cried as she applied the next smear of hot wax. She insisted on showing me the cloth strips onto which my ripped out eyebrow hairs now clung. Frowning, Penny said, “Is like bush.”
Speaking of which, for the first time ever Penny tried to talk me into coming in for a bikini wax in the near future. I’m not too keen on waxing anywhere near the hoo-hoo, and told Penny I was afraid it would hurt too much. She nodded and said, “Depend. You want all off, hurt very, very much. Just little off, hurt much.” I told her I would think about it.
Our waxing session ended the way it usually does, with Penny admiring her work on my formerly scandalous eyebrows and me promising to come back in four weeks while giving her an excellent tip.
* * * * *
In other news, I got a bottle of red food coloring and have been having a great time with it.
Some people like to make marshmallow Peep dioramas. I lean more toward installation art. I had lots of leftover Peeps from the book club meeting held at my house Friday night, so I took them and created something I like to call “Peep Genocide” in my bathroom sink:
(As always, you can click on the pictures to go to my Flickr account and enlarge them.)
I realize it looks a little disturbing, what with the decapitated Peeps and all. My hands look like I recently murdered someone, and my bathroom sink may never be the same again.
Then I made beef stew with bright red dumplings:
Despite its strange appearance, it was quite tasty.
I don’t wear a lot of make-up or spend a lot of money on clothes, but one thing I DO do is get my eyebrows waxed. I always thought it seemed silly and pointless—that is, I thought this until I saw how lovely my eyebrows could look when cleaned up and shaped a bit. They’re not horrid in their natural state: I don’t have a unibrow and they’re not too caterpillar-like. But they look so much better when I get them waxed.
Penny has been doing my eyebrows for a couple of years now. She is a little Vietnamese lady at a small salon near my house, and she cracks me up. She always yells at me because, instead of getting them done every four weeks like I’m supposed to, I often end up waiting six weeks.
This time I had gone a full eight weeks and I knew she would let me have it. She did.
I stopped at the salon today on my way home from work, and as soon as I walked in she took one look at me and said scoldingly, “Oh, my God. I know why you here.” As she escorted me back to the waxing room, a large African American man with a lot of bling was getting a manicure, and he said, “Hey, Penny! You’re looking beautiful today!” She never even glanced at him and snapped, “You be quiet or I get my stick!”
As I lay down in the reclining chair, she shook her head and said of my eyebrows, “Is like garden!” I apologized profusely, saying, “I’m sorry, Penny! I’ve been busy and I haven’t had time to come in.”
She asked, “How long you not come back?”
Sheepishly I answered, “Eight weeks.”
Penny stirred her wax and said, “I make nice. Take long time.”
After she ripped the first piece of wax off and I yelped in startled pain, she said unsympathetically, “Maybe next time you not wait so long. Not hurt so much.”
“Okay, okay!” I cried as she applied the next smear of hot wax. She insisted on showing me the cloth strips onto which my ripped out eyebrow hairs now clung. Frowning, Penny said, “Is like bush.”
Speaking of which, for the first time ever Penny tried to talk me into coming in for a bikini wax in the near future. I’m not too keen on waxing anywhere near the hoo-hoo, and told Penny I was afraid it would hurt too much. She nodded and said, “Depend. You want all off, hurt very, very much. Just little off, hurt much.” I told her I would think about it.
Our waxing session ended the way it usually does, with Penny admiring her work on my formerly scandalous eyebrows and me promising to come back in four weeks while giving her an excellent tip.
* * * * *
In other news, I got a bottle of red food coloring and have been having a great time with it.
Some people like to make marshmallow Peep dioramas. I lean more toward installation art. I had lots of leftover Peeps from the book club meeting held at my house Friday night, so I took them and created something I like to call “Peep Genocide” in my bathroom sink:
(As always, you can click on the pictures to go to my Flickr account and enlarge them.)
I realize it looks a little disturbing, what with the decapitated Peeps and all. My hands look like I recently murdered someone, and my bathroom sink may never be the same again.
Then I made beef stew with bright red dumplings:
Despite its strange appearance, it was quite tasty.
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