Friday, April 10, 2009


Every once in a while, an adult (and I use the term loosely, especially in my case) woman finds that she is bored out of her skull.  If that woman is me, chances are she finds herself not only bored, but dangerously bored.  The kind of bored that ends up with my roommate begging me to at least get drunk first.  I'm not sure if this is out of wild hope that I will promptly do enough tequila shots to prevent my intended course of action or simple blind desperation.  Considering my previous combination of bored + drunk ended up with me in the bathroom, sobbing as I tried to figure out how to get the wax strip out of my buttcrack without having to yank... I'm not sure what she was thinking, either.

Backing up a little.

About a week ago (as some of you who watch me on Facebook and/or Twitter may already know), I plucked out all the hair in my right armpit.  It didn't really hurt much, and I've enjoyed a week (and counting) of nice, smooth armpit -- a welcome change from the usual post-shave stubble that inevitably appears the next day.  I discussed my pleasure with my smooth underarm with my sister, who informed me that she had actually waxed hers.  I was in awe.  I mean, I was already in awe at her recent self-inflicted Brazilian, but the fact that she had waxed her armpits?  

Unbeknownst to all, I began making my little plans.

I am a scientifically-minded soul, and I quickly realized I had a wonderful opportunity on my hands: I could compare plucking and waxing as epilation methods!  I decided that the fact that I had plucked a full week and change before endeavoring to wax was irrelevant; I was interested in comparing the processes.

So, I found my wax, heated it up in the microwave, turned down tequila shots, and went to work.

The first yank was the worst.  I squealed quite a bit, and if it hadn't been for the sight of all those yoinked hairs, I might have made my way over to the liquor before continuing.  However, I was bolstered by that mini-forest of removed growth, and bravely yanked again.  (Squealed like a bitch, too, but hey.  Sometimes hollering helps.)  It didn't hurt as much that time, and by the third pull, the process was just funny.

Especially with Irk and my kids looking at me like I had utterly lost my mind.

It took three good smears of wax to get the hair off, and then I had to go in with the tweezers to get the stragglers.  Irk whimpered over the blood (which was minimal, really; what did she expect?  I was yanking out BITS OF MY BODY), my kids hid on the stairs where they couldn't see me, and I laughed and mentally grouched over the fact that the wax bits clinging to the stray hairs was making the tweezers stick.  It took about ten minutes to clean up, even though there's still some lingering tackiness from the wax.

So, about twenty minutes of effort for a matching pair of smooth underarms.  Worth it!

The results, in Pros and Cons:


  • Smooth finish
  • Mostly painless -- more like scratching a deep-skin itch
  • Takes up a lot of time if bored and not wanting to be productive
  • Slow regrowth
  • Regrowth is finer
  • No residue
  • Takes a LONG DAMN TIME
  • Crick in the neck from having to twist and distort to see entire armpit


  • Quick!
  • Witnesses to the process make the BEST faces
  • Warm  wax on skin a really pleasant sensation
  • Not having cricks and strains from having to contort
  • Long-lasting results
  • Regrowth not stubbly
  • OW! (but only at first)
  • Left armpit now kind of sticky from wax residue
  • Still had to pluck the stragglers
  • Wax bits in the keyboard (note to self: perhaps not waxing at the computer would be ideal)

And, for fairness sake, Shaving

  • Quick
  • Painless, unless you're sloppy

  • Razor burns kind of suck
  • Fast regrowth

So, I really think I'm going to make waxing my new hair removal method of choice (with a side of plucking).  We'll see if I can keep up the brave front when I make my attempt on my bikini area, though!  I'm cautiously optimistic -- I remember The Butt Incident pretty clearly (even though I was WASTED, but seriously, who could forget THAT?), and it really didn't hurt too bad after the first couple good yanks, so.

Friday, March 27, 2009

I amaze myself in a bad, bad way.

I just caught myself being jealous of a girl with anorexia because she had enough self-discipline to starve herself skinny.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

I feel pretty. Occasionally witty. Not terribly gay, though.

I love it when I turn around and suddenly notice I've had a relatively productive day.

My back yard is nicely cleaned up.  Not perfectly; I need to figure out how to throw away large objects like busted kid pools and yard debris, but at least the garbage is stacked nicely to once side.  The plants are all arrainged, the grass is (to my deep and delighted surprise) growing, and I discovered that my lilies, irises, and daffodils are already blooming!  Yay!  I'm hoping my Lucifer survives.  I planted the bulbs this morning, but since they were out of the ground for a little over two weeks while I was in Cali, I'm not terribly hopeful.  BE STRONG, LUCIFER!

... Oh geez, that's kind of funny.


I've made a little headway into getting the house cleaned up on the inside.  Granted, by some standards, it was pretty damn clean to begin with.  However, I was raised by a slightly OCD mom and an even more OCD grandmother... make that two OCD hyper-clean grandmothers.  No shit, one of my grandmothers could see a cat hair on her kitchen floor from across the room.  I'm not quite that bad, but I do like to be able to see stretches of carpet when I walk into the living room, and I do like cleared flat surfaces in general, and... well, I'm working on it.

Man, my back yard looks good.

I got a lot of work done on Infernal Shenanigans! as well, which is nice and lovely because that's where I'm hoping money comes from.  See, I haven't found that mythical chocolate dick that ejaculates money yet, so I'm still looking to get greenbacks the old-fashioned way: bank robberies.  Or was that extortion?  ... Anyway.

On the bright side, getting things done means that I won't feel bad taking the rest of the evening off to draw and write!

Also, best of luck to my unbiological brother who is taking the ASVAB right about now.  If you don't score a perfect, man, I'm never talking to you again and you'd better wear sackcloth and ashes and yell "UNCLEAN" when people pass by close to you.  Seriously.

Nah, I kid.

Seriously, dude.  Do not dishonor our ancestors.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Hell. Oh.

Welcome to San Jose Airport, a nice enough airport when traveling alone (hey, free wifi that actually works goes a long way with me), but a waking nightmare with one cool oasis (again, free wifi) when one is sick with a cold and traveling with two very healthy, very active children.

Now, my two darlings are very polite, extremely well-behaved kids. Most of the time. They are very courteous, use their manners well, and generally get along well with just about everybody. Put them on a plane when they're relatively tired, and they'll peacefully listen to my iPod and stay quiet. Put them on an airplane early in the afternoon after a twenty-minute nap, and they turn into two noisy little slap-boxers with insatiable appetites and the urge to pee every two minutes during takeoff and landing, and every ten minutes while camped out at the gate.

So, take two hyper preschoolers-going-on-schoolers, factor in the lack of sleep and excitement of travelling by AIWERPWANE, and multiply that by having to walk across a crowded terminal packing a stuffed laptop bag, a camera, a purse, three jackets (it's hot in San Diego, but rather cold still in Portland), a bag of food, a couple of drinks, and one small hand trying to tug you in eight directions at once, none of them in the direction you're actually trying to go, and to all that add in sinuses that burn with the brimstone promises of a thousand Baptist preachers that is simultaneously leaking like a busted fire hydrant and two very sore ears, and on top of all that add in the disgusted looks of a million people who are better parents than me while mysteriously absent of any wee hangers-on.

Of course, they're totally mocking me right this minute by playing nicely with the toy monster truck that my son got at Burger King, both of them wearing the paper crowns symbolic of that magic Burger Kingdom. For some reason, I want to shake them both and cry out for them to meet my lowered expectations. That would be foolish, though. We still have one more flight to go, and a car ride home after that... and their bedtime is in an hour and a half.

At least we're back in our own beds tonight.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Update on the computer situation...

Hey, did you guys know it's possible to boot a laptop off of your iPod?

Even if you don't want to?

... I do now! :D

In other news, Gerald is feeling much better now that Erynn isn't all up in him...

This cat wants to die.

Allie is on a roll.

She woke me up this morning after Irk left for work, yowling up and down the hall, then parking her butt at the door and yowling there. I finally hissed at her and she took off running downstairs, but the damage was done. I was awake.

Luckily, the kids slept through her wailing, or the story might have ended there.

On the bright side, I was able to shower and get dressed before the kids woke up, so that was nice. I had to go to the Social Security Administration office today to figure out what on earth was going on with my son's SSN. That was enough to drive me batty. I get home, I start lunch, and I open the laptops to prepare to catch up on email. Suddenly, my body informs me that it is also time to do some business in the bathroom, so.

When I get back, not TWO MINUTES LATER, Allie is jumping off the table, and poor Gerald is frozen. Asmodai is also experiencing some difficulties, but he seems to be made of sturdier stuff than Gerald, and straightens out with a couple of keystrokes.

Gerald, poor poor Gerald, is... dead. BIOS splash, then nada.

I bitch at Irk about her cat (as you do), then settle in to try to fix the damned computer. As I'm downloading the .iso so I can format one of my USB drives to be a 'nix booter (and surfing the web a bit while I download), I hear a horrid sound from under the table.


"Great," I think, "Allie is going for an encore. WONDERFUL."


I realize with dawning horror that the universe surrounding my foot now feels rather hot and drippy.

If Irk posts about the sudden and horrid death of her darling Allie, the world will know why. Provided the damned feline doesn't give me another excuse in the meantime. I mean, really, how's she going to top that?


Irk, if that effing cat pees on my bed...

Friday, February 27, 2009

They never told me it could be this fun!

Ah, the life of a stay-at-home-mom.  It's so fulfilling.

If by "fulfilling" we mean "ensuring that I remain in a constant low-level state of irritability with occasional spikes of rage".

Look, I'm sure there's plenty of moms who genuinely love being at home all day with their children and are convinced it's the best thing for them.  That's not the case with me and my kids.  I'm not happy, they're not happy... it's just a mess.  Granted, a lot of it is because we can't afford to go out and do much (I don't even have money for public transportation right now), and a lot of it is frustration because I genuinely am trying to get stuff done at home that will bring in money, but they don't comprehend that (and I don't expect them to!).

I miss the days when I was working all day, then got to come home and see them.  They were overjoyed to see me, I genuinely was happy and relieved to see them, and we had weekends to hang out and generally enjoy our mutual company.  Now we're all in each other's faces all day, and... it wears on me more than them, but it does wear on them.  

Not that the SAHM doesn't provide its own interesting lessons.  Yesterday, I learned that Gmail caps their response threads at 100 messages, then splits it off.