Waxing Poetic

To wax or not to wax, that is the question, especially as it applies to, you know ... the beaver.

We're not talking about the large, furry, amphibious rodent with two sharp front teeth and a flattened tail — no, we're talking beaver — the glorious vagina.

There, I said it, so get over it already.

I'm no expert when it comes to the topic of feminine hygiene or fashion, but in my opinion, that whole bushy-beaver look is so passé. Yet some women in the locker room — and you all know who you are — prance around in the buck, making their business everyone else's.

Look, if you want to sport a full-out mass of hair in the nether region, that's your prerogative. I just don't want to be forced to bear witness to it.

Sure, that hair is God-given, but it commingles with one's perspiration, and well, you get my drift. Trimming the trim helps, in my opinion, as does shaving, but that can be dangerous. Nair® is better, but these options require frequent removal.

So I recommend waxing, and my preference is the Brazilian. It's clean, sexy and erotic. You can even choose to leave a little landing strip or ask for a mustache-shaped design but, as "The Girls" say, "Why bother, unless you need a reminder that you actually have hair down there?"

"The Girls" are Vada and Yuba — my Brazilian-wax consultants from Russia with love. You'll find them at Roehm's Day Spa (517.485.9820), located at 2800 East Grand River in Lansing. They're good and, with the exception of only my husband, I wouldn't trust my womanly goodness to anyone else. It's a very intimate relationship. Besides, they're medically trained and licensed.

Does it hurt?

Well, yeah, and that would be the biggest down side. At least for the first few times. But the very first time — that's the worst. On that initial pull, I bolted upright, looking at Vada in complete shock.

"Oh my God, am I bleeding?" I demanded.

"Tsk-tsk," she answered with a smirk. But I'm telling you, it felt as though the nerves in every follicle hole out from which my hairs were just ripped were on fire and twitching involuntarily, anticipating the next pull. Beads of perspiration trickled between my breasts. My armpits were damp. I wanted to grab hold of that bitch's busy little hands and break 'em.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I said instead. I just needed a moment to catch my breath ... to collect myself so my next knee-jerk reaction wasn't to deck her. I was tempted to call it quits and walk out of that hell hole, even with a half-bearded and still very sticky mess. It would grow back, right? And Goo Gone® would handily take care of the wax, I was certain. But even as these thoughts raced through my brain, I dug in and endured the pain. When Vada finished, I left puffy and swollen. And I was prepared. I had my husband take me, in case ... you know, I somehow couldn't manage to drive afterwards. He arrived with this shit-ass grin on his face. Clearly, he couldn't wait for me to drop my drawers and show him the results. In that moment, I had half a mind to deck him, too.

But later, in the privacy of our bathroom, I couldn't help but stroke it and marvel at its baby-butt softness. I admired it in the mirror from as many angles as possible. Then I pranced out of the bathroom with nary a stitch and let my husband inspect. Sure, one thing led to another, but I digress.

With each subsequent visit, the pain lessened. By about the fourth or fifth visit, the Brazilian was completely tolerable.

Recently, Kate announced that she'd like to have a go at it.

"It's worth it, but it'll hurt," I warned. And do you know what she did, that brave, brave soul? She called Yuba and asked, "When can you get me in?"

That was last night. I suggested she first call her sister, Annie, who's an ER nurse.

"See if she can anesthetize it for you," I suggested. Instead, she popped a few Ibuprofen, and into that dark madness she did go.

Alone.

A half-hour later, she calls.

"DEAR MOTHER OF GOD, THAT HURT LIKE A MOTHER-FUCKING BITCH!" She was semi-hysterical.

Did I not tell her?

Then came the empty promise: "If having children hurts worse than that, I'm not having any." (Honestly, I don't think I've every experienced a pain worse than the Brazilian — childbirth included.) ...

... followed by her recollection of the event's most memorable moments: "Every muscle in my body was clenched so tightly," and "... when she tweezed the teeny tiny strays, oh my God!" She crossed her eyes as if she was about to go comatose. ...

... and finally, the denouement: "Yuba was so nice and gentle, I really liked her a lot."

Kate's boyfriend, Tony, promised, "If they hurt you, I'll kiss it and make it all better." Kate thought he needed to experience it for himself in order to truly appreciate her pain — I know, because that was my exact sentiment toward Dane when I was first initiated into the Brazilian way.

But a few beers and a lemon drop later, and Kate was on her way home to recuperate. I recommended a cold pack.

I'd send her flowers and a get-well-soon card, but she'll be up and about early in the morning, petting herself and making sure it's still baby soft and bare. Then, in about a month — maybe two — she'll turn around and go right back in for more.

In the meantime, I can't wait to down a couple more beers and throw back another lemon drop. What are friends for, after all?


Brazilians are $45 at Roehm's. Also available at Douglas J Institute in East Lansing for $60 at 517.349.5271.

A Night to Remember

I'm finished, done. I've washed my hands clean, and I walked.

Well, I took a shower, too, and then I walked — in my commencement ceremony. It was a memorable occasion, more so than I'd anticipated.

I didn't sleep much the night before. The truth is, I didn't sleep at all the night before. I turned in around 9 that morning, wanting to make sure I finished my marketing plan for a prospective employer — it's part of the interview process. Which meant I was screwed — no, not because of the interview, but because I'd end up wanting to sleep all day, except that I didn't, because I couldn't. I had commencement to get ready for. So, with only four hours of sleep, I dashed out the door to get my nails done and grab a bite to eat. Interesting, isn't it, that when it all came down, my priority was to get my nails done. Then I rushed home with only an hour and a half to spare, and that's where the shower came in. I got dressed as quickly as I could, and dashed out again with my girls in tow to meet my colleagues for the procession.

We promised to sit together, and we did.

It was so special, because my beloved husband and daughters were there, and they were all really proud of me. So much so that I'm teary-eyed just thinking about it. And Kate — who's suffered through it all with me — the late nights, the exhaustion, the cursing and the mad rush and panic — Kate, who since January 2007 shared in my every success along with her own — my college partner in every group assignment and now my lifelong friend — she was there, too, sitting with my daughters, because she's now officially part of the family. I only wish my son was there, but he is in New York making his own way.

I sat next to Nicole and Taren, who entertained me to the point where it hurt to laugh. They are both Chris's age — so vibrant, bright, beautiful and fun. Ketaki Pange, my assistantship partner, sat in front and just to the right of me. Together, we stood for pictures and waved to her family. They were immensely proud of Ketaki, and rightfully so, she's so brilliant. Laura and Danielle sat nearby, smiling and reserved. Sha Sha was there, too, as was Deana, both of whom I'd partnered with in ADV 860.

Oh, and the lovely Teresa Mastin graced us with her presence, adorned in her doctoral robes. We all shouted, "Dr. Mastin!" and waved like unruly little children, but we didn't care — it was our night, and everyone was in the best of spirits. Mr. Kolt was also present, as was Dr. Cole, who gave us all two thumbs' up and a hug at the end.

We text-messaged our families and friends who looked on above us. We joked and giggled like ... well, like school girls ... and every once in a while I'd look up to see my husband aiming his camera lens at my friends and me. I'd see Sachi blowing me a kiss. And there was Kate with the biggest, brightest smile, waving and brushing away a tear.

Dinner was fabulous at Dusty's — the best company and the most delicious food and a couple of glasses of pinot grigio (excellent by the way). And Kate and I went out on the town afterwards to dance, and she wouldn't let me pay for a thing. We met Nicole and Dominic there, and Nicole's awesome friends.

And then I fizzled out. My left ear began aching, and I wanted Dane to come and fetch me, which he did. He whisked me away, and tucked me in bed. Kate called me around 2 a.m. to let me know she was on her way home and to share with me the rest of the fun night. I drifted off, thinking how perfect it all was — my silly life filled with silly goodness and a family full of love and the best-ever friends. I didn't wake until 4 p.m. the following day, but when I did, it was with a smile on my face.

I'm still basking in the glow of my neat little accomplishment, thankful for the experience, thankful for the support and unconditional love of my family, and thankful for so many new friends.

Now, if I can only find a job. ...

4.0, Bloody Marys & Sushi — Does it Get Any Better?

Well, the hard work paid off.

Kate and I gave our presentation Monday night — a public relations campaign for the Lansing City Market, our client for a major class project. After 48 straight sleepless hours with a one-hour nap somewhere in between, I don't know how I managed to get through the process, let alone contribute anything positive. But Sunday we had our proposals printed in full color and spiral bound with a cut-diamond-patterned cover. Sharp. Hell, at $50 a pop, it damn well better be sharp. Hungry and exhausted, we took a dinner break at Dublin Square and washed it all down with a Bloody Mary ala Grey Goose (Note to self: One of the best Bloody Marys I've ever downed). Then we headed back to Kate's office to put the finishing touches on our PowerPoint presentation.

Yet, even with the hardest part of the work out of the way and as exhausted as I was, I couldn't sleep that night. I tried, but my hip started bugging me. At some point I did drift off, only to wake too soon to the 7:30 alarm. And instead of reconnecting with my pillow, I was up checking my e-mail and finishing a proposed strategy for increasing membership for the MSU Alumni Association — part of the selection process for a job I'm applying for there.

The good news is, we pulled it off, and the client clearly appreciated our recommendation to re-brand them as an International Marketplace. Best of all, Dr. Mastin told us post-presentation that we'd done a great job. Now, in just a handful of hours, we'll meet with her for lunch, and I'm expecting her to deliver the news we've been waiting to hear: That we four-pointed the class. To top it all off, we'll be lunching on sushi and hot green tea at SanSu! Surely it can't get any better, eh?

Sure it can, starting with a long, uninterrupted run to my favorite tunes on my iPod, followed by an incredibly relaxing two-hour massage, and quiet time with my beloved Dane, and laughing with my four beautiful children. And reading books for leisure instead of learning. And getting good use out of my kitchen instead of eating out every night. And cleaning my house from top to bottom. And movies and hand-holding with my baby. And long walks. Sleeping in.

Mmm. I'm getting that heavy-lidded feeling. Maybe after I sleep like baby I can finally try to squeeze in all that relaxation.

That Kinda Girl

Kate kicked my ass tonight.

No, no, no, not in a violent way — she's not that kinda girl. And no, it had nothing to do with those occasions when she'd beat my grade on a paper or test by a half or a full point, then proceed to rub it in with a mischievous giggle and a "Ha-ha, I beat you!" (Yes, she's that kinda girl.)

No, tonight she just cracked me up with the text messages she exchanged with Anthony, her more-than-a-friend-but-not-quite-yet-a-boyfriend friend. They were going back and forth, you know, because she's in Michigan and he's in Florida.

"R u done with ur paper?" he asked. "Not yet," she wrote back. OK, that was the slow part of the conversation. Then there were silly parts: "Ur not 2 skinny, ur 2 hot," "No u r" and "Ur sexy." Then there was the "R u coming 2 C me?" and the "No, cuz I don't have a plane." And at some point, Kate ended up calling Anthony a V-tease (V as in ... Vagina). Yep, she's that kinda girl.

OK, so maybe you had to be there, I dunno. The thing is, I was there, and I laughed my ass off — so hard, in fact, it hurt. It felt like a rock was stuck in my throat and a hundred cramps seized my gut. The tops of my cheeks were moist with tears, and the skin covering my muscles in my face and the area around my mouth were stretched so tightly for so long, I was sure there'd be permanent damage.

I can't wait to meet him, not just because he's supposedly hot (Kate's words, not mine). It's just that he does something to her. She's different somehow. For example, there's the way she talks about him, compared to others before him. They bugged her when they called to ask what she was doing or where she was.

"He's so clingy!" she'd complain about pretty much each one.

But she smiles and gets giggly when Anthony asks her what's up.

"It's how they ask," she explained.

Then, there's the fact that she actually still digs the guy, even after, like what, a couple of dates? Now, I'm not saying she's picky, because I really don't believe she is. The way I see it, Kate knows exactly what she wants but, until recently, just hadn't found it ... er, him. But this Anthony guy, well there's something special about him. He makes her blush, and crack up, and she gets that faraway, zoned-out look before she tells me something she remembered about him.

There's something very ... je ne sais quoi ... about her lately, and I happen to think it's Anthony, which would make him one lucky fella.

And all I can say is, I really hope he's that kinda guy.