Bad Advice

Ouchie!

A week or so ago, I wrote a little post about how this Brazilian wax craze leaves me cold. (And hairy.) This story from Jezebel reaffirmed that decision and then some. Read at your own risk—I have a strong stomach and I yelped. Here's an excerpt:

So, all well and good until I heard a rip of the wax followed by a surprised grunt from the nazi. Hmmm. Something was wrong. Nazi was dabbing my inner thighs, presumably wiping off extra wax. Then she asked me to press a paper towel to my undercarriage. Again, not so weird since this had been an interactive experience from the beginning. Finally, she asked me to sit up. That's when I knew something was wrong. Not sure how to explain this so it doesn't turn into a horror story, but, well, I was bleeding all over the table.

Yeah, sorry, too late. That's definitely a horror story. The truly awe-inspiring part was that after she got her labia stitched up at the emergency room (!!!!), her boyfriend went back to the same butcher for a back wax!

In case you were wondering, that's a vagina pillow. You can buy your own here.

Also, I'm not sure what I think of the new design—it was kind of half accidental. Let me know. Thanks!

Let Us Pray

Today, little FrankenFierce went under the knife and had his fuzzy little Chug balls lopped off. His mommy reports that the surgery was a success and our young friend is resting comfortably.

Gloomy Friday

Mabel the cat had to be rushed to the emergency room yesterday. She hadn't stopped puking since her visit to the vet on Tuesday and so she was all dehydrated. Oddly enough, she was perfectly healthy (except for some eye boogers) prior to her doctor visit. But now these latest vets are saying she either has a rare blood disease, kidney or bone cancer. WTF? Incredibly, the rare blood disease is the least hideous of all the options!

Mabes has been my pal for about seven years now. She's seen a lot of drunk uncles come and go and has always had my back. I've never had a more loyal kitty. She meows and pokes her nose in my face when I cry and I can count on her to always take my side when me and the boyfriend are fighting. That darn cat actually runs over to stand by me and barks at the man alongside me.

So now things are looking pretty bad and I'm having to pay $2,000.00 for the pleasure. The docs told me she stopped vomiting and stabilized overnight, and so maybe things will get better. But for now, I'm a little too sad to write peppy blog entries.

Bride From Another Planet

In my quest to avoid writing my Seattle column or do anything productive with my day, I sometimes look at wedding crap on the world wide internest. And as I've mentioned before, all this serves to do is make me feel poor, fat, and like I might be from some alien universe. (When I hear "STD", I think Sexually Transmitted Disease—not "Save the Date," as in "STD" cards, which are sent out in advance of the actual wedding invitation. Who knew?!)

Last week, the NY Observer—a paper I genuinely like—started running what they call a "Bridal Blog." They found several soon-to-be-marrieds and are having them document the angst leading up to their big days. Predictably, most of these broads make Carrie Bradshaw seem down-to-earth. Here's a little collection of juicy quotes:

• AIMEE: I gave into temptation and did something reckless today; I went to the movies. For months I haven't been able to justify spending free time on anything besides the wedding. If I do, I feel like I'm cheating on my wedding, letting it down, not giving it the attention it needs and deserves. . . .

Um, Aimee (BTW, nice spelling—did you come up with that in 6th grade to set yourself apart from all the other boring Amy's?), you obviously need to get a life. For your edification, I'm going to list several activities that are actually reckless—sitting bareass on the toilet seat in the Mars Bar bathroom; jumping down on the subway tracks to retrieve a dropped snack; eating said snack after it's landed on the trackbed; naked bungee jumping. . . going to the movies isn't even close. Your wedding is one day of your life. Get a grip.

• LAURIE: I decided to save even more money by making all of the invitations, save the date cards, et al, myself. I envision something with an old typewriter-style typeface and one of those four-sectioned photos of the two of us, from the booth at Lakeside Lounge. Is that a cliché? And if so, by whose standards?

No, Laurie, that doesn't sound so much like a cliché as it does a gigantic pain in the ass. Are you really willing to devote weeks of your life to something much more competently handled by a professional? Or even a laser printer? My guess is you change your mind on this little project after your third papercut.

• KARA: Last week, Diane and I were discussing dress-fitting appointments over the phone when Diane said innocently: “And I bet they can just let Joy's dress out depending on how pregnant she is.”
  “Oh yeah, shouldn't be a problem!” I replied perkily. But I didn’t feel so sanguine. To start with, I chose a ball gown bridesmaid dress, but the high-waisted empire dress would be a far more appropriate silhouette given the situation. And on top of that, I'm very aware that the excitement of my wedding day could bring on contractions.

Translation: How dare that bitch get pregnant without telling me. It's bad enough Joy has that unsightly skin condition, now she's going to be fat too. Bitch. This is going to totally fuck up the entire wedding album. I wonder if she'll consider being induced a month or two early if we pick up the tab. . .

Snowball Fright!!!!!

Please go directly to this Perez Hilton link to see the "new and improved" Axl Rose. I never consider Mr. Rose much of a looker in the first place, but extensive plastic surgery and some ill-advised extensions have combined to make him look a whole lot like a rock'n'roll Carrottop.

And on a similar note, Perez, quit hating on Mariah! She made the Grammys! So much more entertaining than those U2 twats. So she's got a little junk in the trunk. . . . I love that crazy bitch!