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 pretty stoked when I was given a gift certificate for a Brazilian bikini wax at a local spa for Christmas. (You might be already thinking that this is a bit of what-the-fuck since who gets stoked over being given a gift where a complete stranger yanks all of the hair from your nethers by hot wax, but I’m really lazy and was thrilled to let someone else do this for me.) I’d never heard of the spa where I was to undergo this aesthetic torture, 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”, but ditzy me thought that this was a business suffix like an “LLC”. It wasn’t until I typed in 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 poon grooming. Since I’m well-versed in 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 the entire time that my pubes were being violently removed.
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 and it turned out that I was correct. After signing in as a guest, I was pointed in the general direction of where I would find the spa. After wandering the halls for ten minutes 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 eldery 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 be, 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 was having my poon waxed, 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 my 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, 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.