Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Too Much Sleep is Never Enough.

2012...  I'm not so sure about you...

So far this year (and we're only a month in) I've done some cool things and had some odd things happen.  For instance, both Guac and Bambi have contacted me because they had to tell me they missed me.  Nothing changed as a result of their admitting that, but it was odd and unexpected. 

I went to Yosemite for the first time, which wasn't even an idea until right around the first of the year.  The trip was rapidly planned and over even more quickly.  But worth it. 

I got my yoni waxed for the first time ever.  And, as Oose pointed it, since the woman who did our waxing recently did Patrick Dempsey's makeup for something, his face now has one degree of separation from our vaginas. 

I quit my job and began working less than part time for the first time in four and a half years.  Less than 40 hours for the first time in two.  I felt for a while as though I was lost and a little useless.  Four days into the semester I am thankful I did what I felt I had to because my course load this semester is crazy.  I would be super stressed out and not eating already. 

Then again, I might not be able to eat by the end of the semester because I won't have the money to be able to afford food.

Oh, and I was in an opera.  The first time in I-don't-know-how-long that I wasn't a lead, so that was weird.  Usually I've been able to find some way to get out of being in the chorus.  But that's over now.

I need to figure out what I'm going to do with my summer; my voice teacher is really recommending that I do a summer program.  I'm just super concerned with my financial situation.  I may have to acquire a part-time job before the end of the semester. 

Sigh.  I don't want to work retail again. 

Seriously, where is my sugar daddy already?!

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Ill-Advised

A story of hair removal.


I spent last weekend in Santa Cruz with Oose.  We had decided during the week prior that we should try waxing for the first time. 

I'm not referring to our legs.

I had mentioned going to a professional waxing salon and she couldn't get over the idea of how uncomfortable she would be with some moderately trained Vietnamese woman peering into her cooch.  I still can't discern how that's very different from going to the women's clinic and having a different person checking your yoni every time you have to go back.  But I wasn't about to push the issue.

Oose suggested we just get at-home kits and wax each other. 

Yeah.  I know.

I tried the salon idea a couple more times, but she seemed so genuinely uncomfortable that I eventually just caved.

I think we both regret that now.

With a bottle of wine, some excellent tunes, and the support of her very accommodating boyfriend, we each made it about halfway through waxing before we gave up. 

I still have a picture on my phone of the wax on my upper thigh that rorschached into a moose after I instinctively put my legs together when it didn't come off with the paper.

The next day we ate some brunch and ran a few errands before we talked out the situation over coffee.  I basically was refusing to try to do the rest ourselves and she pretty much agreed.  So I googled salons in the Santa Cruz area and found one willing to make two simultaneous/back-to-back appointments for us at 5:30 on Sunday.

The woman I found was super nice and very clean and professional.  She let us know everything she was doing and let us both stay in the room while one was being waxed without being the least bit weird about it.  She was also very chatty and made the whole situation seem normal as opposed to awkward.

Most importantly, she didn't make us feel like idiots for trying to do it on our own.  I think she realized we felt dumb enough without her. 

Let me tell you, finding someone to rip the hair out of your cooter is not cheap.  But it's kind of worth it.  The hair doesn't grow back as fast as it seems to with shaving, there's less of it, and you don't get all irritated from finding random patches of hair that you missed or that are difficult to get to.

On the other hand, it's uncomfortable to sit for the first night.  It was even worse for use because of the double waxing.  Also, hair apparently grows in stages, so your skin isn't perfectly smooth until the third wax.  Though, after the first time the hair is finer, so you feel it less anyway.

I would definitely suggest that if you decide to try getting a Brazilian you should invite someone you really trust to go with you and hold your hand.  It's not as painful as I would have thought, but it's definitely nice to have the morale support.  Plus, it scares the crap out of you when they're about to pull the strip. 

Also, you should probably be aware that they wax everything.  And I mean EVERYTHING. 

If I had decided to name this story according to the part of it that scarred me the most, it would not be "That Time Oose and I Decided to Wax Our Own Genitalia."  It would be "That Time A Stranger Touched My Asshole."

Monday, January 2, 2012

I need to be packing so I can head back home in a less stressful manner than I usually travel.  I just can't seem to get myself involved in the task.  My mind is too full.

I don't know how I get myself into these situations.  I hate drama and try to be a relatively drama-free person.  It just follows me.  Especially when matters of the heart are concerned. 

I miss the days in which one boy would decide he liked me and would then ask me out.  I miss the days when friends with benefits didn't even seem to be an option.  I think friends with benefits sucks more than actually being in a relationship.  For me, at least.  And having someone only half-assed pursue me with the intent of only getting sex (because I don't notice that agenda) only makes me miss being with someone who truly loves me and wants to be with me more than almost anything in the world.  Or at least someone who acts like it. 

For the most part I'm starting the year off in a good place.  I have some healthy objectives for 2012.  I have a bunch of yarn.  I quit the part of my job that I couldn't keep up with (though, that was hard; I really love the people I work for).  I even had a decent stay with my family. 

I've even finally made it to a place where I realize I don't miss Bambi at all.  I miss the idea of him.  I miss what he was to me, not what he actually was.  I miss love.  I miss having someone to sleep with me.  I know I've mentioned this a time or two before, but I just hate sleeping alone.

Oose and her boyfriend broke up this summer; they got back together again in December.  He realized after she had left that he couldn't be without her, then he managed to do the things he needed to in order to be with her again.  I will admit there is a part of me that is jealous about this.  Because Bambi, despite how much he said he loved me, could never do it.  Would never do it. 

Ultimately I am forced to realize that's okay, though.  I am much, much better off without him.  Judging from what I learned last time I spoke to him and what I knew of him before that, I can't say the same for him.  I was and continue to be the best thing that ever happened to him, with the possible exception of his daughter, who he really didn't have that much to do with anyway.  In a way I suppose that's gratifying.  More than anything it just makes me sad. 

I know that I couldn't fix what was wrong with him and it's not my fault.  But as a result everything that happened between us I know that I can never date someone who needs to be cleaned-up (so to speak) ever again.  I may be a problem solver, but I can't change or fix people.  Especially not those who aren't willing to do anything for themselves.  Likewise, I can't be something I'm not.  I can't pretend I don't feel something I do.  And that's for the best.  That's healthy. 

I'm just so tired of keeping everything inside.