My Summer Vacation

xagadadyWhile I want to be one of those people crying and bitching that I’m no longer floating on an inflatable alligator with a cocktail in my hand … I just can’t. I missed all you bastards WAY too much. I’m refreshed, I’m feeling alive (not really I’m actually exhausted and probably still a little hungover), and I’m ready to PAAARRTTTAAYYYY … well, by “party” I mean get back to the grind. 

While I know you are all DYING to see my vacation pictures and view how fantastic I look in a bathing suit whilst eating BBQ chips … I decided I will share with you a few tidbits that occurred over the past week. Okay I will share one picture with you because I just wouldn’t be a good blogger without investing in some really awesome Instagram-worthy inflatable devices … right? Boom … 

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So here it is … what is equivalent to my vacation slide show: 

1. I HATE bathing suits. Call me self conscious. Call me out of shape. Call me a hot, bloated PMS-ing mess who is a carboholic (which I TOTALLY was) … whatever, I loathe their existence and they killed my vibe all week. In between writing this post I’m ceremoniously burning them all. BURN THEM. 

2. My email overwhelmed me the entire time I was away until I realized 82.5% of it was bullshit from ASOS and Forever 21, and then I was reminded that I’m not a super duper high powered boss (YET) and should shut the fuck up. 

3. I sprayed so much SPF 50 on my body all week it started to cake on my skin (how about that visual) and I swear I feel like some of it is still on there after numerous showers. And the entire time I was secretly praying I would turn into a bronze goddess with SPF 50 on without aging and getting skin cancer (spoiler alert: I’m still pale).

4. If you get me drunk enough before I shower, you WILL see my hair curly. 

5. I get insanely competitive and turn into Rambo when water gun fights break out in the pool. 

6. Speaking of pools, when there is one at the house I’m staying at, I will NEVER go to the beach … ever. Which worked in my favor because … hello … sharks. 

7. Speaking of the beach, I didn’t get eaten by a shark nor did I get stung by one of those super natural sting ray things … so that’s cool.

8. I ate like shit on vacation and my body hates my guts right now. And whilst eating like shit and drinking too much, I spent a lot of time asking my mother, “OMG AM I FAT?!” “DID I GAIN WEIGHT TODAY!?” “STOP LYING TO ME, WOMAN, I’M SO FAT!” until I think she contemplated stabbing me. True life, when all you do is eat carbs and drink vodka … you’re going to gain some weight, self. Deal with it. 

9. My family secretly hates me because I don’t eat pork. Or they were secretly pissed at me because I got to eat shrimp most dinners because I DO NOT eat pork. Either or. That’s my family … I could join a gang and decide I’m giving up my career to become a gypsy, but if I don’t eat pork or support the Eagles … I’m dead to them (love you … mean it).

10. I will leave everyone and everything I care about in the dust when a massive, ungodly spider presents itself. I also will run in a bathing suit with no cover-up on when this happens. My neighbors got a GREAT show. I’m praying a slow motion video of this event doesn’t live on the interwebs somewhere. “Weird, pale girl runs in bathing suit screaming ‘SAVE YOURSELVES’ as ass giggles up the stairs” … the next YouTube sensation. 

And there you have it. I really am super pumped Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Rerun week is over and I can get back to dazzling you with my nonsensical thoughts. And I hope you are, too, kids, I hope you are, too. 

Ye Old Art Of Waxing

sq_carell_chest_wax_300x300I’m about to embark on a week filled with sun, sand, and cocktails … lots and lots of cocktails … at odd hours of the day … when you are properly at work … mwahahaha! (Sorry, I had to).

But as I’ve been making mental lists and starting to pile up things I would like to bring with me (#overpacker), it also has brought something to my attention that not a lot of people feel comfortable talking about … but oh yeah, we’re going there. That would be waxing, kids … waxing.

When you go on a beach vacation, you basically have it all out there for a week, as bathing suits leave little the imagination. Even if you’ve moved to the one-piece (which, for the most part, I have), there is a lot of skin you’re showing … a lot of skin that if you’re a lady, shouldn’t be covered in hair. Hair is gross … woof.

I’m a waxing neophyte. The only thing I’ve ever gotten waxed is my eyebrows … and that took me years to commit to. I was so scared of the pain I walked around like bushy mcbusherson … it was hot, let me tell ya (I was also 13, give me a break, that is what those awkward years are for, right?)

But now, it is all about getting your bikini area waxed. And to that I say … bitch please. I’ve heard horrific stories about a thing called a “Brazilian wax.” Perhaps they are urban myths, but I would rather not pay a total stranger to make me get on all fours, ALL-FOURS, naked, and have them take a burning hot substance to my lady parts. It just doesn’t sound pleasant … to be completely honest it sounds nuts. Call me a Granny all you want, I’m here eating Werthers Originals and clutching my handbag for dear life. I keep it real. The stories I’ve been told and the screams I’ve heard at salons from women enduring the Brazilian are something made from nightmares.

I realize the “Brazilian” is the extreme end of waxing. But the PG-rated wax, the ones where I hear you put your legs in stir-ups and still have a stranger get all up in your bid-niss whilst being half naked … hmm yeah, still not my cup of tea. I’m not a prude. I’m just not down for paying for embarrassing torture. At least give a girl a shot of vodka before getting that personal with her, my God.

Sure, dealing with your “bikini area” yourself isn’t pleasant either, but at least you are alone in your shower. Sure, the end result usually looks like you have tiny red spider bites all around your woo haa or a weird rash … but quite frankly I would rather that than, again, paying a stranger to be all up in my bid-niss making me turn and twist in weird positions for the sake of removing ever stitch of hair. And if anyone questions my weird rash or wonders if I have an STD, I will be HAPPY to explain to them my theory on waxes. Yep. That is sure to bring all the boys to the yard.

You know what, your gyno should give you a free wax after your annual. I would be okay with that. He/she, a trained professional, has already been down there exploring, poking and prodding … why not get a complimentary wax after it all. I mean the whole visit is rather unpleasant to begin with, why not get a little “spa-like” treatment afterwards to heal your wounds of being completely violated for the sake of lady health. Just a thought, gynos of the world, just a thought.

I know, I know … hundred and thousands of women get waxes every year. I bet if you’re reading this and you’re into bikini waxes you think I’m the biggest wuss in the world. And to that I say … you are correct, sir. Unless I’m going to go live in a nudist colony on planet “that would never in blazing hell happen” I will most likely never get a Brazilian. I may try a regular wax just for funsies, though. But someone better get me drunk before hand. That is an order.