In My Head

Having bought these cute bikinis for a graduation celebration trip to the beach with my girlfriends, I decided that insetad of just trimming the lady forest, I may want to lose my hair completely. While there’s no right or wrong way to groom your nether regions, I figured it can’t hurt to try a Brazilian waxing. Well, actually, it can and will hurt.

For years, I’ve heard horror stories of the Brazilian wax. Getting down on all fours, raising a leg like a dog peeing on a tree, spreading my butt cheeks to allow a complete stranger to apply hot wax in the most private crevices of my body—these didn’t seem like things I needed to rush out and experience (at least not in public).

While discussing the trip with my girlfriends over Sunday brunch, I brought up the fact that I was considering a Brazilian wax in preparation for the trip. Thought it’d be good to get a second, third, and fourth opinion. It was interesting to discover that, apparently, I’m the only one in NYC who hasn’t done this!

Summoning my courage, I made up my mind and decided to go for a test run to see how my skin would react. How unfortunate would it be to show up at the beach in my cute bikini with a bunch of red bumps?!

First of all, let’s get our definition straight. A Brazilian wax removes all of the hair from front to back, usually (but not always) leaving a thin “landing strip” of hair a few inches below the belly button.

Requiring moral support (and someone to stop me from chickening out), my friend Dee met me on “test day” at the place she goes to. When I walked in, Dee gave me a hug, pointed to one of the ladies and said “That’s Maria.” Then, holding my upper arms, she says to me in a serious hushed tone “Just keep telling yourself ‘It’s worth it. It’s worth it.’”  WTF?!!!

Someone had suggested that I take ibuprofen an hour before my appointment. Of course, I forgot.

Maria led me to the waxing room where she started to prepare the wax.  ”Should I just….take ‘em off?” “Yes” she replied. For a Brazilian, you’ll be naked from the waist down. I waited for her to leave—the way your massage therapist or gynecologist leaves so you can undress in private—but she kept talking, waiting.  “Shit”, I thought, I have to do my ungraceful undressing in front of her. Considering she was about to see my most private areas, I’m not sure why this bothered me. I talked and laughed nervously as I bounced from one leg to the other to remove my shoes and then my jeans. If you’re like me, you’ll feel ridiculous standing around half-naked.

Trying to make conversation to avoid the awkward silence of disvesting before this stranger, I say “This is my first time.” “Yes, your friend told me” she says with a knowing smile. “Are you nervous…or scared.” “Both.”

My womanliness all exposed, I laid face up on the table, laughed nervously and let her get down to business. She patted me on the leg and told me not to worry; we’d be done before I knew it. As she prepared the wax, I had a horrible, sick thought: “What if the hot wax feels good? What if I like it?” I couldn’t figure out how I’d channeled the maturity of a seventh-grade boy, but I started to laugh nervously and she patted my leg again to calm me.

Most waxers will ask you to assist by holding your skin taut or moving your legs a certain way. Hot (not warm) wax goes on, then a sheet of some kind of paper on top, and then an unexpectedly fast RIP!!!! I won’t sugar coat it. It hurt like a mother! Prior to arriving, I was worried about exposing myself in such a personal way, but trust me when say that all cares about modesty go right out the window as soon as you experience the first RIP. “Hold this. Pull here. Spread that.”  You don’t even think about it. All you can think about is “No guy is worth this!” and “Dear Lord, please make this end soon!” As I cried out in pain and jerked on the table, I thought for sure I must be the wussiest customer she’s ever had. After undergoing this Guantanamo-detainment-like treatment, my hoo-ha will give away any State secrets!

 ”Time to do the back,” she announced. She asked me to turn over on my stomach. Wait. Where was the crouching on all fours? This position seemed dignified in comparison.

Now this was what I’d really been dreading. I’m not an ass girl. This is probably too much to reveal on a public web site (but since I’m telling the world about my hair-free nether regions, why not?). I like to think I’m adventurous, but I’ll never be the girl who makes a special request for any back-door action. Never. So at this point in the appointment I’m sweating bullets.

“Spread the cheeks please,” Maria requested.

As I felt the heat of the wax, I wished for a leather strap to bite on. I tried to remember algebra. I sang songs in my head. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb…then, rrriiippp. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all. Another couple of pain-free rips, and I was done.

As for the pain, I won’t lie: It’s intense, but it’s also fairly brief. I was told my hairlessness should last for up to four weeks, at which point I can go back in for another round of waxing.

If you’re remotely curious, I say go for it. But do a little homework and go someplace reputable so you’re not crouching down on all fours behind some thin shower curtain in a lonely, dark back room.

The snow is steady with winds from 20-40 mph. We’ve had at least 6 inches so far (as of 3:00 PM) but likely  more like 8 inches. We’re predicted to get 12-15″.

Today Hubby and I met up with friends at East Harbor Seafood Palace in Brooklyn. Dim sum starts early at this place, so we got there at 10 AM.

Hadn’t had dumplings since our trip to Beijing last June. What a delight (though Beijing definitely rocked it better)!

Yesterday, my hubby took me to Heaven. No, get your mind out of the gutter!

He took me to a place near his office called Westside Market. (For those of you who know it, it’s a kin to Central Market only in a more confined space.) Wow! The beautiful produce, treated with such tender loving care; the cheese department with its own expert; the olive and spreads section; the meats; the seafood; and all of the gourmet groceries. I wanted to neal before all that culinary goodness!

The best part is that we wanted to buy a piece of the Brillat-Savarin cheese, but the piece was big (and expensive) so Hubby asked the guy if he could half it. He takes the cheese, says “No”, prints a new label for it at half the price, sticks it on the cheese and hands it back to us. Christmas!

You have to understand, NYC is great, but the supermarkets usually suck, and in Astoria, they’re no exception.  We have a Key Food just around the corner, and to say that the food we get there is subpar is an understatement. I’ve bought rotten chicken and produce there (didn’t know it ’till I got home). They have no decent beef to speak of, and I wouldn’t even touch their seafood if you paid me. I hate that place.

Guess who’s going to be doing the grocery shopping on his way home from now on???

There ARE nice people out there during the holidays!

Heading home from Union Square tonight, I couldn’t get my MetroCard to scan (an on-going saga for me).  A nice gentleman passing through the busy rush hour turnstyle to leave the station noticed my predicament and decided to offer assistance. Once on the other side, he offered to scan his own card so that I could get in. Who does that…during rush hour… during the holidays?!

Thank you sir, whoever you are. Your kindness will not be forgotten. I shall pay it forward in the hopes of inspiring others into random acts of kindness.

The MetroCard is on it’s on its way to a very long and drawn out death. If the MTA follows its usual schedule, we’ll see a MetroCard replacement probably sometime around 2050. But the MetroCard is young; subway tokens had been around for 50 years before the MetroCard killed them for good in 2003.

A flimsy plastic card with a magnetic strip that gets damaged in one’s own packet is not efficient, reliable technology.  Even the best of us get slipped up: “Please swipe again.” “Swipe card again at this turnstile.” “Too fast. Swipe again.” “Insufficient Fare.” Or, the dreaded, “See agent.”  Then throw in a few thousand tourists (who are either used to smart-cards [thanks, Europe & Asia] or have never seen a subway before [thanks, middle-America]) and suddenly the turnstile is a nightmare.

Unlike the MetroCard, smart cards stay right in your wallet or handbag. In London, a whole business has been formed around OysterCard covers called OysterShells. And in Boston it’s not unusual to see a man lift his right hip up just far enough at the gate so the reader can scan the card in his pocket. Once you experience this magic, it’s hard to go back to the cumbersome swipe.

Sure, magnetic strips can store information, but the beauty of a SmartCard is its flexible, ever-expanding functionality. In Hong Kong, the Octopus smart card is used everywhere from the subway to parking meters, from 7-11 to Starbucks.  The technology of an RFID-chip embedded into the smart card allows for lots of information in one card.

Currently, the MTA creates separate MetroCards for each type of rider: student, senior citizen, disabled, etc.. Instead, one kind of smart card can be issued to everyone and customized, via programming, to reflect their status and meet their commuting needs.

Purchasing cards and then throwing them away is wasteful — one smart card could do it all.

For now, I guess I’ll just have to live with swiping my MetroCard 7-10 times in order to get in.

Last fall I started a master of science program in human resource management & development. I attended classes part-time during fall/spring/summer (2 classes per semester – 1 class at a time, every 6 weeks).

Then, in my quest to move on to bigger and better things, I decided that I was going to go to school full time (4 classes per semester, 2 classes per 6 week period) while working full time in order to graduate in May. A little nuts, sure, but I can do it.

No question…. I can do it.  But what will be the results of this ambitious endeavor?…

This week I started the first fall term with two masters classes: 1) Managing Inclusion & Cultural Diversity and 2) Compensation & Benefits Strategy & Plan Design.  It’s a compressed term, 6 weeks instead of 12, but still doing the work of 12 weeks. I just finished tonight’s class and now I have to read 8 chapters, complete a written homework assignment and a self test before bed tonight so that I can be ready for class tomorrow.

For each of the 2 classes I have a weekly (or nightly) assignment, an individual paper, a group project, a mid-term exam, and a final exam.

My morning starts at 5:30 AM with a workout, then work at 7:30 AM, then class from 6-9  PM.  As long as I can get my work done Thur-Sun, I should be ok.  It’s just the homework assigned on Monday night for Wednesday night that might be a bit tricky.

Yes, I can do this.  It’s not going to be easy.  But I can do this…

For date night tonight, the hubby and I went out to take night shots.  Specifically of the full moon.  Below are shots taken with a Nikon D40X at various settings.  The final photo is of the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge (previously known as the Triboro bridge).

(Click on photo to see it individually with the camera settings, and click on it again for a larger version.)