Seriously.  There are just some things you should shell the money out for and have a professional take care of.  I had excellent professionals to take care of this for me when I was living in Brooklyn, but now that I’m back in NJ (and unemployed) I just haven’t been able to find a decent place to go around here that doesn’t cost me an entire unemployment check.

What am I talking about?  The dreaded Brazilian Bikini Wax.

A friend of mine once told me that she took care of this grooming on her own, in the privacy of her living room.  At first I didn’t believe her only because I couldn’t believe someone could inflict that kind of pain on themselves.  She showed me the product she used and almost convinced me it was “not that bad.”  Still, once I walked away from her I was all “Pfft, as IF I could be that masochistic!  That’s crazy! I’ll stick with Magda (my usual yanker).”

Well, as I was saying before, a location change and financial crisis has caused me to sacrifice many things, this luxury being one of the first to go.  I can deal with this growing issue (HA! Get it?) for only so long before it literally starts driving me crazy. And it was.  When I would talk to my girlfriends about it, mostly hoping they would recommend a good salon nearby, they would always say, “Just shave!”  Well, it’s not the same, okay?  It’s just not.  At least not in my opinion.  So I let it go.  And go, and go, and well let’s just say it had gotten to the point where I would have fit right into any 1974 porno flick.  UGH.  Something had to be done.  I remembered the conversation about the DIY Brazilian and figured, “Shit, what’s the worst that could happen?”

So I buy the stuff and get home and take a Xanax and drink two huge glasses of wine and decide it’s time to go for it.  I read the instructions, heat up the wax, apply, bite down on a towel, and RIPPP!!!

Hey, that wasn’t so bad!  Ok, again.  And again.  And after 4 or 5 times of this I’m thinking, SWEET! I’m in the clear, this is CAKE!  Oh boy how wrong I was about to be!

This shit gets fucking tricky!  Once you’re past the point of no return, meaning one side is done and the other side hasn’t been touched, this wax decides it’s time to become all stringy and cold and it’s going to make you heat it up every 5 seconds and by the time you heat it up and get back to the bathroom to continue it needs to be heated up again.  And then you start trying to contort your body in all kinds of ways you didn’t think you could even contort just to try to see what’s going on down there but you still can’t see and so you try to just go for it blind and well LET’S JUST SAY THAT TRYING TO BLINDLY APPLY HOT WAX TO YOUR NETHER REGIONS IS NOT NECESSARILY THE BEST IDEA.

Two hours later, I’m sweating, the Xanax I took is wearing off, and the endorphin rush I’m getting from doing this myself is so intense I feel like I could run a fucking marathon.  Not to mention my neck and my back have been hunched over for the past two hours and I need to just chill the fuck out. I’m about 80% done, and of course the remaining 20% is literally the most painful parts to wax. (Ladies you know what I’m talking about.)  It’s time for me to take a breather and get some sleep.  I’ll finish in the morning. Hopefully.

It’s broken down into two parts, with the first nine songs on Elephants and the last five on Teeth.  As a whole they seem to encapsulate an entire life circle, from happiness to heartache.  Here’s a good article from Spinner on the whole thing.

Since I’ve been a fan for a while, I won’t try to bring you over to the darkside.  I’ll let Rachael do that.  I picked this Jay Leno performace only because I’d rather have an upbeat song to post than put you guys to sleep with the slow stuff.  Enjoy:

You can become friends with her here and here.  Or check out her Wiki page here. Her main website is here.

Oh and if anyone wants to buy me tickets to see her play in NYC, go here for the info and that would TOTALLY ROCK!

Last year, I was not.  I didn’t make it in time so I snapped a shot from the bedroom window:

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That’s Paula Radcliffe in the front, with the white gloves.  She ended up winning the marathon last year.  

I almost missed them again this year, but was happy to snap Mrs. Radcliffe at the same moment a year later:

(That’s her in front, again, with the white gloves.)

She ran the last half of the marathon like a machine, pulling far enough ahead of this group to have no threat whatsoever to the victory.  I felt excited to have shared such a miniscule moment in time with her, and felt proud to be able to witness it live.

The guys came a little while after the ladies, so I was able to get a more decent shot of them:

The frontrunner here is from the U S and A, but if you look at the guy in the back of the pack in the yellow jersey?  He wins.  Pretty awesome, right?

They are running so much faster than you could ever imagine if you are watching the race on television.  It’s almost like there is a blur behind them they are gone so quickly.

As exciting as it is to watch the fastest runners pass by, it really gets exciting when the rest of the crew catches up.   39,000 runners pass my house during the course of about 3 hours, and the cheers and applause and excitement is enough to make anybody crazy inspire anyone. Seriously.  

Congratulations to all of you that may have run in this race, or knew anyone who ran in this race.  It is truly a feat and the ultimate test of endurance, and I applaud anyone who can achieve a goal that large.

I feel disappointed in myself.  Not because I feel like I need to get in shape and train for a marathon, but because I didn’t have the patience to play paparazzi and sit outside scoping out Ryan Reynolds. 

To celebrate them, I’m going to drink a lot of beer, eat until I burst, and watch some football.  After all, that’s what Sundays are made for, right?