I’m a waxing kind of girl. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dappled in the other methods of bush maintenance.
I’ve experienced the never-ending itch of stubble from shaving. I’ve gone through stealing my husband’s clippers. I’ve tweezed. The depilatories have left their mark upon my nether regions. But when it comes down to the nitty gritty, I’m all for making a phone call to the local Esthetician.
Yesterday, I had my first appointment with a new wax-lady. Who is, of course, a lady who waxes, not a lady made of wax. Because why would a Wax Lady require an appointment?
I’ve been through my fair share of wax-ladies over the last eight years, at many different salons. Some of them have been great, and I was in mourning when they moved/went on permanent maternity leave/generally got tired of looking at beavers all day. Others have not been so great – like the one who gave me a second degree burn during a brazilian wax and called me a big baby for saying it hurt.
So when I showed up at the new salon, I was a bit nervous. The wax-lady was nice, but the room was small and instead of a spa table, there was what looked like a barber’s chair. Which, if you think about the area of my body she was going to be waxing, poses a few questions as to my flexibility and comfort.
In addition, she’d only just graduated from waxing school. Nervousness turned into full blown anxiety.
It took a little longer than usual, but she did a pretty good job. Yesterday, my crotchal area was a bit swollen and red, (after all, hair had just been yanked out by the root with hot wax) but today? I am one happy customer.
All hail the bikini wax:
Slightly expensive? Yes.
Exposes cootch to stranger? Yes.
Hurts like hell? Yes. But just for a second.
Involves putting something very hot in a very sensitive area? Yes.
Feeling extra sexy for my husband: Totally worth it.
Category: The Style Section
Once upon a time, there was a girl who struggled to infuse her style into her surroundings. You might call her home decor eclectic bohemian, if you were being nice. When she grew up, the girl who became a young woman married a handsome man, whose style could be called frugal western. Together, they filled their home with two lifetimes worth of bargains.
The young woman strongly desired a home that looked cohesive, yet she had no idea how to create such a space. She studied home design books and watched endless hours of DIY programming. She was pitied by many of her close friends, who were born with incredible taste. They took her to fabulous home stores like Pottery Barn (go ahead and drool over the chair you see there – I certainly did) and Z Gallerie and Expo and even her beloved Target. Finally, the young woman knew what she liked: a style that did not scream, “USED!”.
The problem became clear at once: The Salvation Army did not seem to carry items from the likes of those stores. Instead, it housed items from places that end in -Mart, and the woman refrained from purchasing them. Slowly, she accumulated items that she hoped would transform her home into a place with a more beautiful aesthetic, while maintaining her own personal style.
Behold, readers, the one place in her home the woman is proud of having created:
Come along as she creates, and critique at will.
Categories
Cute Shoes
I’m totally lame and never got around to putting up my BlogHer buttons for the conference coming up in San Francisco this weekend. Better late than never though, right? So check out my new bling to your left.
While I was picking THAT one, I couldn’t help but notice THIS one:
What would the button be, without the shoes to prove it?
The BEST part is that they are the most comfortable shoes on the planet. I’ve been wearing them for two days straight, and my feet have yet to complain, even once. As soon as I get back, I’m going to Target and getting a pair in every color.
Excessive? Maybe. But according to me, one can never own too many pairs of cute, comfortable shoes!
* They’re called “Sydney” if you’re interested in getting a pair for yourself *
I’ve always been a highlights kind of girl. Back in simpler times, I’d get myself a bottle of sun-in and spray away all summer long. My style has long since become a bit more polished, so $5 for months of highlights is quite a stretch. An impossible stretch, in fact.
Tired of spending an entire day on a salon visit, not to mention an amount equal to my weekly grocery bill in highlights, I decided a few months ago to get back to my roots. My dark, dark roots. With a little bit of red for extra oomph.
The only problem is, coloring can be just as expensive as highlights, even if it is quicker. My next hair appointment is coming up on Saturday, and I need some brutally honest advice.
The choices are as follows:
LEAVE IT ALONE. My natural color. 
GO DARK. With red for extra oomph.
GET SOME HIGHLIGHTS. Never mind the roots.
Categories
M’ Boots
I’m sorry, but y’all gotta read this post with a North Carolina accent. Jeremy’s Grandma Lois has been here a little over a week now, and I can’t he’p it, it’s catchin’. Don’t worry, she’ll be goin’ on back home next Tuesdy, and I’m sure I’ll be back to talkin’ like a yank in no time. Meanwhile, my grammar’s on the back burner.
So anyway, here’s m’ boots. Dontcha wish ya had a pair just like ’em?
Just about everbody ’round here ~ well, everbody who walks, anyway ~ has ’em a pair.
