|Pics courtesy of Google, none of them are my own.|
Some of you might know - because you either know me personally or you've read my About page - that I started blogging as a guest blogger on another blog which isn't mine hence I don't have control over it. Since I'd be really upset if one day some (or all) of my favorite posts posted there ended up missing, I'm taking safety precautions and re-posting them here to have everything under one roof. Have you already read all of those posts and you don't like the idea of me reposting them? Well tough luck, I don't care. This is my blog, my little universe, I make the rules so deal with it. If you need an occasional power trip, I suggest you start your own blog too - it'll give you a feeling you can in fact control at least something while everything else in your life uncontrollably spins out of control. So this is me taking charge and posting one of the posts from the other site here and there'll be 2 more coming in the future. The one I'm posting today is my absolute favorite and I got a really nice comment on it by a girl saying: "This is the best thing I've read in ages." Although I started blogging because I like to write and I had a slight hunch I'm sort of not completely sucking at it, it really made me feel good to read that. It's funny how your own opinion doesn't count for anything while opinions of other people can make or break your notion of self... Ok, enough with the profound bullshit, on with the show. I mean post.
All of us know the pain of heartache. That love hurts is no mystery. But does emotional pain hurt more than physical? I'm not here to decide because I was enough melodramatic in the intro and I want to discuss something else - sex. Or better yet, the painful things we do to get some.
A common female delusion is that we have to look perfect in order to get laid (which couldn't be further from the truth because people have sex with sheep and snowmen when push comes to shove (or they want it to come to some pushing and shoving) but we don't necessarily know that...) so we obsess with stuff like cellulite, body hair and excess fat. About a year ago I got a massage gift card and I decided to get an anti cellulite massage. Guess what? It's not relaxing, it's not a deep tissue "massage", no - they BEAT you. A tiny Thai woman came in all polite and coy and then spanked the hell out of me. I got home a noticed a nasty bruise on my thigh. Love hurts? No. Pre-coital preparations hurt.
Cellulite is unappealing, no question about it, but nobody likes a hairy woman either. I don't like a hairy woman myself. Whether you shave it, pluck it, wax it - just remove the hair. Especially facial hair not belonging on a woman's face, shrub sprouting on your legs and under your armpits and last but DEFINITELY not the least - pubic hair. Facial deforestation can be annoying, true. And everybody knows that waxing our legs can't be pleasant. Let's face it - some wax (usually scorching hot) gets spread on your skin, then covered with a strip and BAM! Hundreds of hairs (all firmly rutted with no intention of leaving your body any time soon) get plucked at the same time, taking some of your skin along for the ride. And then you have to repeat the process over and over again, of course. What's with men's obsession with a hairless body? Aren't we the weaker, gentler sex, so we're the ones who should demand smoothness all over and not settle for hairy back and buts not just legs! Big strong butch men should be able to handle some hair, shouldn't they?!
The things I personally did and do for a squeaky smooth "entrance" are no picnic. And no 5 course meal at a slow food restaurant either. Body hair is just not my cup of tea so I've been getting a Brazilian wax for quite some time now. 2 years ago, I decided to try out IPL. For those of you who don't know what it is - it's a hair removal laser (among other things). A modern torture device (in other words). It has a 10-square-centimeter (about 2-square-inch) prism through which it shoots rays of red light, the light is caught by each individual hair in its path, sending down a wave of heat of 70 degrees Celsius (160 degrees Fahrenheit), but that's not the fun part. When it hits the root of that each individual hair, the root explodes. 10 square centimeters of hair all exploding at once at 70 degrees? Think about it - you don't wash your coloured clothes in water hotter than 50 degrees (120 Fahrenheit). How many rays did it take to cover the area? 123. That's one hundred and twenty-three. To say that it hurt is an understatement. I had 4 procedures done. Yes, I am a trooper. And a moron. I thought it'd thin my hair, which it did, so getting a Brazilian wax would hurt less, which it doesn't. Along with the hair, it also thinned the upper layer of my skin and now waxing my privates hurts even more.
Before taking my summer vacation, I always get a Brazilian and for 3 days it feels like my vagina's been raped by a medusa every time I go into the sea. Which gets me thinking... I like puppies and stuffed animals and plush blankets - what's wrong with a little bit of body hair?
P.S.: Some final food for thought: Do you find this attractive? It's got no hair and it's a pussy.
Don't forget to follow FPS via Twitter, Bloglovin or Google+ to get the latest posts and other musings. But whether you decide to do that or not, you're welcome to come by again next week to see what's new - posting days are Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays!