I’ve wondered if my life is such a fucking dramedy because I’m a writer, or if I’m a writer because my life is such a fucking dramedy. Granted some of it is a result of my own inanity, but then there are episodes where I am a complete innocent bystander. I am seriously not joking when I’ve said that I’m a magnet for what-the-fuckery. I can’t make this shit up.
For example, I was given a certificate for a Brazilian bikini wax at a local spa for Christmas. (Don’t ask, just go with it because that’s a story in itself.) I’d never heard of the spa where I was to undergo the aesthetic torture of having a stranger apply hot wax to my nether regions and then yank it off, but was assured that it was the best. With summer finally here, I decided that it was time to use my certificate. The first thing that I did was look to see if the spa had a website. It did, but there wasn’t much to it except an overview of services and the address. I happened to notice there was a “JCC” in the address, but ditzy me thought that this was a business suffix like an “LLC”. It wasn’t until I typed the actual numerical address into Google maps that I realized that “JCC” was short for “Jewish Community Center”.
I wasn’t even sure what a Jewish Community Center entailed, but I was pretty sure that it didn’t typically include chocha grooming. Since I’m well-versed in life throwing me the perverse, I just rolled with it and called to make my appointment. When I spoke to the owner of the spa, she verified that she was indeed located inside the JCC, but assured me that I didn’t have to be Jewish to enter the building. Good thing since I planned on praying through the entire procedure.
The first thing that I have to say about this JCC is that it’s bloody huge. Not only is it three buildings, but each of the buildings is massive. I didn’t know which one held my destination, so I chose the biggest building which thankfully turned out to be correct. After signing in as a guest, I was pointed in the general direction of where I would find the spa, but then I wandered the halls for ten minutes searching frantically and afraid that I was going to have to ask someone where to go. I finally stumbled in a panic through a doorway that I hoped was where I would just be waxed and not circumcised. There was an elderly gentleman receptionist who assured me that I had found the correct place. (Yeah it was a little weird to be asking an elderly Jewish man if I was in the right place to have my nonny-hoo-hoo primped, but again, I just rolled with it.)
As shocking as it might sound, the waxing itself wasn’t traumatic. Aside from being aware that there were small children just a room away in the daycare center as I had my business all out there, it went off without a hitch, in fact, you can read about the actual waxing experience and what to expect if you want to have one done in my article “Making Your Brazilian Wax a Smooth Experience” at The Indie Chicks.
In other news, I’ve started edits on my book. I pretty much rewrote chapter one the other day (long story as to why) and I have to say that it’s something that I’m proud of–like to the point where even if it’s turned down by every literary agent in the world, I’ll still love it and be willing to show it off. My posts are going to remain a little sparser for a bit longer, but as you can read, a lot of the awesome that I’ve been mentioning in the past few months has been building momentum and I’m still adapting on keeping up with it. It’s a lot of work–I pretty much live on my computer–but I love it.