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Rip The Runway.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, me being an ex go-go dancer should come as no surprise to you. For those who haven’t, it’s true. Back when I used to be hot and sexy, and people didn’t even know I knew how to read, I used to wear furry boots and flip my hair around half naked to music. And let me tell you – that shit was awesome. But this isn’t a story about go-go dancing. It’s a story about the time I gave myself a bikini wax.

Everytime I tell this story to someone I ask myself WHY? Just. WHY? Why would I inflict such pain upon  myself? Because I’m dumb, that’s why. Plus, I figured I would save a few bucks. So there I am pantless in front of my mirror spread mother-fucking eagle. Remember how I told you I hate vaginas? That includes my own. I don’t care how neat, or tucked in and virginal it looks, it’s still hideous, and now I have to STARE AT IT.

I use hard wax, the kind that doesn’t require strips. Using a small spatula type tool that came with the kit, I spread some on and it already fucking hurts. I’m doing it too slow or either way waited too long after I warmed up the wax and it’s pulling on my fucking vagina hairs. I stop being a bitch, and push forward and wait for the strip to harden. Then, I realize WTF I’ve gotten myself into. I start thinking of puppies, and babies. Rainbows, the fluffy chinchilla my science teacher at A.P. Giannini had, and then ffffffpt I rip that shit off and immediately apply pressure on my skin afterwards. You know, just like the professionals. Only I’m not a professional, and I’m wishing that someone would simultaneously give me a tattoo just to take my mind off the pain down there.

One would think I would’ve given up at that point. Be like a normal person, and just shave the rest off. And I probably would’ve, if it wasn’t for the fact that I still had one more strip to go. Fuck, I guess that’s what I get of being overzealous. At this point my leg is getting sore, so I do a battle cry and let it rip – no pun intended. Except for some dumb ass reason I don’t pull all the way, so it’s stuck halfway. I have half a strip to rip off, and no grip room. It’s too close to my skin, so I can’t use scissors, my leg is sore, I am now sweating, and I’M SO FUCKING TIRED OF LOOKING AT MY VAGINA!

I look at my phone, and realize I need to start getting ready soon. I look at my situation down there again, and contemplate wearing sweats to my gig. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuck!” I scream. It reminds me of the time I pierced my own ears in middle school using a kit I bought at Walgreens, and chickened out halfway causing me to have to do it twice. I take a deep breath and think, mind over matter secretly knowing it’s a crock of shit. I have a pep talk with myself, and finally rip the rest of it off.

That was the first and last time I gave myself a bikini wax, and I have no one to blame but myself. I should’ve known what the outcome would be considering I’m a fucking pansy when it comes to peeling off band-aids *smh*. Bikini waxers of the world, kudos to you. Because you couldn’t pay me to wax my own pikachu ever again.


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