Archive for January, 2011

The Brazilian Wax Incident

January 18, 2011 @ 9:03 am · Filed under Uncategorized

(Repositing- an oldie, but a goodie!)

I was on a weekly trip to Walmart, both kids in tow, trying to get through my list in a quick fashion, so that my kids don’t start freaking out and hitting eachother, and making me look like a bad mother in front of everyone, when in the shaving cream aisle, I am beckoned by some rather tricky advertising on a box that says “Virtually painless brazilian waxing kit”.

Now, I am a mom, who works three jobs, and chase after two crazy little kids all day, but when they go to bed, and I’ve drunk my two glasses of merlot, and feel all sassy, the last thing I want to do is think about running quickly to the bathroom to do the one-foot-perched-on-the-sink shave down routine- I just want to be a free spirit and pounce on the opportunity (aka Husband), shall it arise (again speaking of a specific part of the Husband). I don’t mean be a free spirit, as in the 1972 Playboy centerfold spreads, as in not a care to tend to the mighty jungle, no- I mean free spirited as in bare as the day I was born, nothing to tend to, tweeze, pluck, artfully shape into a (usually lopsided) triangle, or a streamlined vertical version of Hitler’s moustache- no-  just bare, Brazilian bare!

So, I bought the “Virtually pain free” Brazilian waxing kit, and all of the other crap I needed for that week at Walmart, and headed on home. I put all of the groceries away, save for my “Virtually pain free” (let’s call it VPF for short from now on) kit, which I set on my bathroom counter to bask in the sunlight coming in through the window, like the lifesaving guardian angel I was hoping it would be, and I put my little ones down for a nap.

Once I was sure everyone was asleep, with visions of Sugarplum Fairies dancing in their heads, while visions of a pain free, hassle free, perfectly groomed nether region danced in mine, I tiptoed to the bathroom, and gingerly opened my VPF waxing kit. I half-ass read the instructions, “test patch first”, blah blah blah- I have two kids damnit! They sleep for an hour- if I’m lucky- if they’re even really asleep! I don’t have time for patch-testing and all that jazz- I only have an hour to sit spread-eagle on my floor and try to get this done before one of my kids walks in and is scarred for life! So, I proceed to heat the wax in the microwave, I did make sure it wasn’t too hot (I’m not a moron afterall), and I began my first swipe, on the furthest outside of my inner thigh. “Wait 15 seconds for wax to harden, before pulling in the opposite direction of how the wax was applied”- easy enough, right? So- I waited the 15 seconds, flicked up one side of the hardened wax, grabbed onto it, used my other hand to tightly hold the flabby skin on my thighs, and rrrriiiiiiipppppp…….Now, if you’re picturing all of the wax coming off in one swift, swell movement, pain free, all of my little hairs attached to it, and my beautiful now-smooth as silk inner thigh gleaming with sexiness, you are DEAD WRONG. The wax that I flicked up to pull in “one swift movement” broke off of the rest of the wax, about 1/8 of the way up my thigh. Which meant that I had to flick up another piece (which hurts like hell, because when you do that, it’s slowly pulling out one or two little hairs at a time), then try again to pull the strip off  in “one swift movement”. After about four very not swift, damn well not pain free attempts to get the first strip off, I finally had a one inch by four inch line of perfectly smooth, but redder than a fire truck and tender as sashimi skin on my right thigh.

How on God’s green earth will I be able to repeat this enough times to have the beautiful, perfect little brazillian bald va-jay-jay that I envisioned? It was time to “man-up”, face the music, pull myself up from the bootstraps- I’ve had two kids, dammit- I can get through this! The instructions said, if I remember right, (truthfully, I think my mind has blocked out portions of my memory due to the trauma that I incurred druing this experience), to start outward, and work your way “inward”. By the time I got to “inward” of just one side, I was in tears, had popped a vicodin that I ran around the house naked to search for, and my kids were yelling from their rooms that they wanted to get up from their naps, and I distinctly remember pleading, out loud mind you, through tears to the most “inward” strip of wax, “please, you shitty, false advertising, piece of shit waste of money wax, please come off all in one piece, I beg of you!” I guess I spent too long pleading and threatening the strip of wax, because in a big “F YOU”, it had hardened to the point that I couldn’t even pull it off! I had to use tweasers to break off tiny little pieces at a time, which was as excruciating as if I would have spread my most inward parts and called for seagulls to peck every hardened piece of wax off of me!

By this time, it is 3:40 p.m.- my kids have been yelling in their rooms for 20 minutes, I am supposed to be at work in less than an hour, and I’m still sitting on my floor, spread eagle, naked, salty tears streaming down my face, which I wipe away with fervor, lest they fall onto the raw, throbbing flesh that was at one time the right side of my labia- all of this, and I had only finished ONE SIDE! So, with my half raw roast beef, throbbing, and half mangy jungle with parts of stray wax nether regions, I throw on a nightshirt, hobble to get my kids out of bed, put on Dora the Explorer for them, as I explain that “mommy’s not crying, mommy has happy tears, ’cause she is so happy you took a nap”, and I get ready for work.

I make it through work, many thanks to the vicodin taken earlier in the day, and several trips to the bathroom to sneak an ice-cold paper towel onto my very swollen, raw right side of my girl-parts, and on my drive home from work at 11:oo at night, I am again moved to tears at the thought of finishing what I have started. There is the option of just shaving the left side…or even tweezing every little hair on the left side, or just catching all of the little hairs on the left side on fire and burning them off all at once, which I assure you would hurt a hell of a lot less than the sadistic waxing ritual I had performed on my right side…No- I had to finish the job like a warrior.

I gave myself a little pep talk, drank three glasses of Chardonnay, and finished the left side. I was so traumatized by the incident earlier in the day with the most “inward” area,  that I didn’t even attempt to apply wax there- I just sat huched over for about 45 minutes with a reading light aimed directly at my open legs, and tweezed every single little hair from the most “inward” area- as painful as that sounds it was NOTHING compared to the earlier assault from the “Virtually pain free” wax kit.

Today marks one week since my life-changing, eye opening experience with the VPF wax, and I am happy to report that the swelling has subsided, the scarring has lightened, and I am actually enjoying not having to even think about shaving for at least 2 more weeks. But, I’ll tell you what, I will shave every day, even twice a day, before ever going through the horror of waxing again!

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Opening a Bag of Old Garbage….

January 5, 2011 @ 9:40 pm · Filed under Bumps in the Road, joys of parenthood, Let's Just be Real

“You are the woman I’ve been waiting for all of my life.” He said. Awkward silence followed. “I have thought you were the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and I have thought about doing this for a long time…..” And with those words, he leaned in and kissed me, full on the mouth. He reached around my seatbelt to encircle my waist with one hand, and slipped his hand underneath the waistband of my favorite sweatshirt with the other. As he sloppily pressed his tongue further into my mouth, my words were muffled by his lips, and silenced by my shame, as the abusive act continued.

I was 15, and he was a 36-year-old youth pastor at my church. The legal definition of sexual assault is: “Sexual assault refers to a continuum of behavior that includes rape, but also encompasses any unwanted physical contact of a sexual nature. On this continuum, everything from non-consensual kissing and fondling to forced oral, anal or vaginal sex, is an act of sexual assault.” In reference to my specific situation, the law defines what happened to me as “Sexual exploitation by a helping professional.” Sexual exploitation in this case refers to any non-consensual sexual contact perpetrated by someone in a place of authority or leadership over the victim. Example of perpetrators in this case would be teachers, church leaders, physicians, and therapists. This type of sexual assault can be particularly distressing for victims because of previous feelings of trust and respect for the perpetrator. In addition, this type of sexual assault can be difficult to disclose to others because of the status of the perpetrator as a respected and trusted person in the community. Respected and trusted, indeed.

My family and I practically lived at our church. From the age of 12, I volunteered at the church to lead youth-choir, was highly involved in the youth group, played the piano during the church offering for the main service, and my family was one of the founding members of the church. We were part of the church when it was 60 people in a warehouse in the “other side of the tracks” part of town. We grew with the church while they quickly climbed to over 2,000 members, and had become quite a pillar in our then- small community.

I realize now, nearly 20 years later, that I was well-groomed for this act to occur. I understand now, that even at 15-years-old, I had little knowledge or even life experience, to have cultivated a different outcome than that which happened to me, to my family, and even to his family.

My “New Year’s Resolution” for 2011 was seamingly simple:  to forgive. I decided that I am ready to forgive- ready to leave the proverbial  plastic bags full of emotional garbage that I’ve been carrying around all of these years behind for good. But, as I opened my email this morning, emblazoned across my homepage, was a story about a local youth pastor that had been accused of molesting two teenagers. In an unexpected flood- it came rushing over me. http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking-news/ci_17015591?nclick_check=1

Although, I know that I am a “victim”, I’ve read the handbooks, I’ve been to counseling, I’ve “acted out”, and I’ve attended many V-day and victim/”survivor” associated events. Sadly, I have never identified with either. What I can I can however identify with strongly, is being a mother, and the fear of someone hurting my child(ren). I’ve never disassociated myself sexually, never became withdrawn or disengaged intimately or even emotionally. I have rarely even discussed my abuse, other than with very close friends, and of course my very loving and supportive family. But, while I am trying to muster this whole spirit of forgiveness, it enrages me that churches and other places of public gatherings are not required by law to fingerprint and/or perform background checks on volunteers, or even employees.

I will work on forgiveness, and I will work on letting go. But, I feel a new inspiration to use my experience not as a cry for sympathy or pity, but as a call to action. Something more needs to be done to protect kids from “sexual exploitation from a helping professional”. Whether it’s committed by, most notably, a priest in a Catholic church, or a less-publicized choir leader in a neighborhood Baptist church, the impact that that type of violation has on a child and their family is immeasurable. I have nothing against God, and have nothing against the fellowship of a church family. But, I do think that a “Beloved, let us LOVE one another (1 John 4:7)” and “let go and let God” attitude should not be considered when allowing people that can do harm to our children and families, hold places within our church communities. I don’t think that my experience will change legislature, or bring about a law named after me. But even if I protect just one child from going through what I did, or cause one parent to insist that the people that work alongside their children be background-checked and fingerprinted, I will have the most overwhelming sense of accomplishment. And I may even start to forgive.

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