Tag Archive: recycled post (I’m green!)

Brazilian, Baby {Green Post}

January 8, 2010 | featured, making memories | Tags: , , , , , , ,
10 Spoke Up - Say Something

I’m calling this a “Green Post” because it’s been recycled from my old blog. One of the challenges of the Mominatrix #sexualrevolution was to do a little down-low landscaping, and I thought I’d share one of my experiences with waxing. This is supposed to be funny, so LAUGH DAMMIT.

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I understand that there are some cultures where body hair is accepted, even admired. There are cultures also that demand that women or men remove all or parts of their body hair, either as a religious rite or simply because it is culturally unacceptable otherwise. I tried to do some research on this, but have you ever tried doing a Google search for pubic hair and cultural perspectives? Yeah, don’t. Or turn safe-search on.

Anyway, other cultures aside, my own personal preference is to be clean-shaven – pretty much anywhere that I can be. I love the hair on my head :-) But I also keep that short. I don’t like long hair. Hubby had long hair before we met. If I had known him during his goth or subsequent quasi-goth stages, we would not have dated. When we did meet, he had a nice military haircut. Totally acceptable and attractive!

My reasons for wanting to be hairless “down there” are numerous, from simple to upkeep, to cleanliness, to the “eww gross” factor during oral… the list goes on. No landing strips for me, either. Not a fan. It looks funny, to me. And it’s more upkeep! I’d have to trim and shave. I think that’s asking a bit much from a girl who doesn’t even get to shower as often as she’s like. (Aren’t you glad that you only know me virtually? lol. )

So, with that oh-so-essential background information, my candid account of getting a Brazilian wax while 7 months pregnant last Saturday follows:

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The spa room was very nice. There were nice fresh sheets and towels on the table in the center of the room. The walls were painted in calming earthy tones, and soothing music played in the background. There were some nice iron scrolls on the walls, a hook and hanger for my clothes, and a display of creams and lotions.  I had just come from getting my hair cut and my maternity massage, so I was relaxed and feeling sexy and fun and flirty. The clinician, Rachel, offered me a drink of water or some tea. I politely declined – I think that peeing on the woman clearing out your bush is rude, right? I’ll be honest, I’m fuzzy on the proper protocol during a Brazilian wax.. but I think peeing on people is out unless you’re filming a crazy porn or something.

Rachel, by the way, is absolutely gorgeous. Long, dark, curly hair, big big eyes with long lashes, little cupid mouth. It was almost a little insulting how pretty she was. I mean c’mon. If I’m going to have someone staring at my vagina for an hour, I’d rather that she be less attractive than me. If she’s going to be more attractive than I am, and she’s looking at my vagina, she better not be down there to give me a Brazilian.

(Whoops, just outed myself. Bisexual, anyone?)

So, where was I? Oh yeah. Gorgeous girl, first Brazilian wax, 4 months of growth because I can’t reach my own hoo-hah and a huge pregnant belly.

She told me that I could hang my clothes on the hanger and get up on the table, she’d be right back.  That’s right folks, she left while I undressed. She also left while I dressed, at the end. How weird is that? I mean, it’s not like she wasn’t going to see it anyway!

Then again, after I had stripped and gotten up on the table, I draped a towel over myself. Even as I arranged it to keep my bits from showing, I questioned why I was bothering. I mean, she was going to be getting up close and personal. And yet… it would have felt so weird to leave it all hanging out!

So when she comes back in, I’m lying on my back, wondering why they didn’t bother to drywall the ceiling because those dated ceiling tiles are really unattractive to look at, when she pulls my leg to the side and plops some sugar-lemon gel on the area with a little spatula. No “How do you do, let me grab your leg here for a sec.” No “How about dinner? A movie? Sex in the back of my conversion van?” Not even a warning “Let’s go!” Just flip the towel aside, grap the spatula, plop the wax and hello, pain. Let me tell you – that gel is hot. And when it catches on the little hairs, it hurts a little. But I thought to myself, so far, so good. This’ll be quick and dirty. It’l hurt, but then I’ll be able to go, and I’ll never have to look this beautiful woman in the face again.  Then she grabbed one of those little waxing strips and laid it on the gel.  No problem. Then she took her whole hand (gloved, thankyouverymuch) and rubbed the strip down with significant pressure. Let me just say this – not so much a problem on the bikini line area. Totally strange when you get to the “inner” area. I was really, really glad that I wasn’t going to have to see her outside of this context.

Then she started talking to me, asking when I was due, did I have any names picked? I thought it was a little weird, but figured that she was curious and maybe trying to get her mind off of the task at hand (literally….)

I was right in the middle of telling her that I was due on ((RIP)) ((internal scream of surprise and pain)) November 4th, but that my daughter was ((RIP)) ((oh good lord that burns)) about 10 days early, so ((RIP)) ((I bet I’m as red as a tomato down there right now)) this one might be an October baby. With every bit of gel applied, she would apply the wax strip several times and rip, rip, rip away.

I was horrified at the pain. It burned. It hurt. It ached. It was sharp, and tingly, and there was nothing good about it, no way. I had heard that some women like to get this done. I think that whoever told me that was mistaken. They probably said that they like it as much as they’d like an ice pick to the eye. Or they like it as much as they’d like to swallow burning coals. Or that they like it as much as a visit from their mother-in-law while potty-training their first child, who happens to have diarrhea.

But I had started. And I figured that as long as I could just sit there, deal with the pain, and get it over with, I’d be fine.

But no. Rachel was seriously chatty.  She would ask me about how I liked living in B-town, and whether I liked it more than BL-town versus N-city, and how her boyfriend wanted to live in B-town but she wanted to live in N-city even though the commute would be worse, etc etc. Every so often, she’d pause, and squint at my lower half. I’m not sure if she was puzzled, or strategizing, or what. It was all very surreal and strange, and somewhat awkward.

It went on and on. This is not a quick process – it took 50 minutes to get everything.It was a pattern. Apply wax, ask a question, furiously rub on waxing strip, wait until I started my answer, RIP. I swear, she was doing it on purpose. She probably got some sort of sick thrill out of seeing whether she could get me to scream in the middle of my answer. (I’m proud to say that I did not! Though there was much wincing, pausing, and flinching)

I tried to rationalize the whole experience and say that it was good practice for childbirth.  I mean, pain at intervals lasting for 30 seconds to a minute (oh, the burning!) while maintaining conversation with the people around you. Because that’s totally how we all imagine our birth experience. Discussion about politics and complex science while also bringing life into the world, without any pain medication. I mean, that’s what my childbirth plan reads…. yeah.

The worst part was the end, though. I had told her that I wanted everything – even the wayyy back – gone. She tells me that the last part is the least painful, don’t worry, and if I could get up on the table on my hands and knees and arch my back, that would be great. (Oh, how many times have I heard that? “This won’t hurt a bit, now bend over… ) So, with my big ass and my pregnant belly and my ridiculous stretch marks, I got up on that table and posed like I was asking Hubby to do it doggy style. My stomach rested on the table. My back was arched, my ass was in the air, and she says to me “That’s great.”

Oh goodness.

So she applies the gel and gets the strip, and right after she pulls the strip off, I start to giggle.

A word of advice: the next time that you’re in a table, ass proudly displayed in the air, while someone removes the hair from your body using a spatula, wax, and some cloth strips, do not giggle. It’s weird. It puts a strange mood in the room. No matter that you quickly, VERY quickly explain that you’re just thinking about how funny this will be to tell people later, and that you’re thinking of getting an at-home wax kit so that your husband can see how it feels to have the hair brutally ripped from his body, or that you know it’s totally inappropriate and you’re so sorry you don’t mean to giggle but you just can’t stop…

It’s weird. And for the last few minutes of that waxing session, there will be a silence in the room, like a thick, wet, flannel blanket, dampening everything. And you’ll still be stifling giggles.

Needless to say, I’ll be back in four weeks to get it done again. (That’s right, go back and read that sentence again. No typos, I promise.) (It lasts four weeks!) (And Hubby is paying!)

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A Little Inspiration (Updated, Repost)

August 27, 2009 | about mommygeekology, making memories, philosophy | Tags: , , , , ,
1 Spoke Up - Say Something

Beside my computer at work, where I plan to spend many a lunch-time hour composing witty and sometimes informational posts here on iMommy, I have a whiteboard. I love my whiteboard. In fact, I wish that I had some extra dough and no responsibilities (ha!) so that I could get an electronic whiteboard like this one.

On my (seriously technology-deprived) whiteboard at work, I’ve written a few inspirational phrases. These are often the reminder that I need to calm down, let it roll off my back, or even spur me to action. I’m considering taking them with me everywhere! Maybe I’ll put the phrases into a ScrapBlog with pictures of my loving family, then export it to a .jpeg and print it on photo paper and carry it in my purse…. and then I could have these lovely phrases with me all the time!

  • Accept the fact that we live in an imperfect world.
  • Say “No.”
  • Don’t put up with something that doesn’t work right.
  • Unplug your phone.
  • Breathe deeply.
  • Take control of your environment.
  • Talk it out.
  • Keep a sense of humor.

I realize that not all of these are always achievable, but usually at least one of these little reminders helps me get through my day.

Sometimes, though, all I need is a picture:

Sisters

Sisters

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Reinvent Yourself [Re-post]

August 7, 2009 | about mommygeekology, making memories | Tags: , , , ,
21 Spoke Up - Say Something

I’ve had a rough week.  I’ve been working on me – trying to deal with my feelings towards my family, myself, my life. And now? Well I like to think that I’m on my way to becoming that beautiful butterfly.

Let me back up.

I think that if we were able to meet earlier versions of ourselves, our earlier versions would, in nearly all cases, kick our present-self’s a**, scorn us, spread nasty rumors about us in school, or otherwise show their utter disdain for our lives.

OK, fine, maybe it’s just me.

But seriously – at seventeen, I was sure that I would lose my virginity to the man that I married. I was sure that I would probably never get really drunk, except maybe once on my honeymoon. I was sure that I would be in school for music right now, finishing my Master’s, and that I would be composing awesome music, and doing musical theatre, and generally putting myself out there and showing the world how freakin’ amazing I was. I was sure that I would have an amazing relationship with my family, that I would probably have my own apartment and an awesome side job that allowed me to retain my individuality and creativity, and that I would still be in touch with all my high school teachers. Especially Mr. L.

My 17-yr old self would definitely not have suspected that I’d have a small blue sedan gray almost-minivan with cheese puffs crushed into the carpet. She wouldn’t suspect that, at the tender age of 23, I would be ready to give birth to my second child. She would never have guessed that I’d marry a guy I’d know for 6 months, and she definitely would have laughed, heartily, at the idea that my husband would be a military man. (He’s finished his term now, by the way.)

At 23, I expected to be having a lot of fun, exploring my creativity, and living it up. I don’t think I figured that would include trips to the park to see the longest slide around, crayons, and staying up past 10pm (whoo-hoo!)

But you know what? It’s OK.

I love it. I love this. And while there are still a lot of dreams that I’m not wiling to give up – I would forfeit it all for this family of mine. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect to have two children so early. I didn’t expect to have a husband that I love quite this much. I didn’t even think love like this really existed. I didn’t realize that there is nothing, NOTHING more fulfilling than teaching your daughter to say a new word and understand what it means. I don’t think I realized that there would be nothing more likely to bring a tear to my eye than that same little girl calling my best friend from middle school, Mike, “Unc” (uncle).  I never knew that it would hurt so good to see her growing up.

A part of me misses Cat (my former self). The daring, pink-hair, outgoing, dramatic, don’t-care-what-you-think-ok-so-maybe-i-do-but-i’ll-never-show-it Cat. The girl who was popular, but only amongst the music geeks and band dorks. Cat, who spent all her spare time in the music theory room, trying to compose something meaningful. If I’d known how it would feel to be a parent, I wouldn’t have had an ounce of trouble creating a sonata. I wouldn’t have had any lack of inspiration for a base line. I could have created the most beautiful choruses.

Cat isn’t gone. She isn’t lost. She’s still here, but she is often smelly from lack of shower, and unmotivated and exhausted. She is often insecure about what other mothers may think, and weary of the day to day drama that comes with family. Cat wishes she had time for music lessons, and music composition, and community theatre.

But MommyGeek… MommyGeek knows that there is nothing better than spending time with my daughter while she counts to 10. There is nothing better than ducking as she tests out her throwing arm with a ball that is way too hard – who gave that to her? MommyGeek knows that the other day, when I made it to the grocery store and home within an hour, WITH a toddler, right before dinner time – that is true victory, and it is sweet. Oh so sweet.

MommyGeek knows that hugs and kisses from a little girl who wants to know “You ok?” are better than any medicine. iMommy knows that she has the best husband in the world (for me). MommyGeek knows that the next little one will be just as much of a wonder, even while Cat is recoiling at the thought of more diapers, spit up, and unglamorous outings to the park.

I believe that each day, we have the opportunity to redefine ourselves. Each hour. Each minute. We can change as we need. Cat is a part of my self, but she is a part that will be dormant for a little while. It’s MommyGeek’s turn to shine.

And let me just say this, because it’s important, and I wish that someone had said it to me when I was starting this MommyGeek journey: It might happen overnight for some people. But not everyone. Some women struggle with post-partum depression for 6 months before doing anything about it. Some women never fully recover from that depression. Some women finally realize that they are enjoying their daughter, fully, for the first time when she turns 2. Some women don’t really embrace Mommy until later. And I think that’s OK. As long as our children are happy, it’s OK. As long as we find that happiness, it’s OK.

So while this is all wonderful, and amazing, it wasn’t so amazing at first. It was terrifying. It was new. It was different. It was too much. And it took me a while to reinvent myself and become MommyGeek. And next? Next I need to figure out how to be both: Cat and MommyGeek. We all need balance. You know what the best thing for balance is? Beautiful [butterfly] wings.

Just you wait. Mine will be twinkling in the sunlight before long, alternately blending into the background or bursting with color and light.

Photo Credits:
Top (originally uploaded by lappid.)
Bottom (Neil Durden)

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This post originally posted on my previous blog, on August 13th, 2008.  I was heavily pregnant with Geeklet at the time. I think that no matter where I am in my life, this post will be relevant to me. I hope you enjoy it.  It could be considered part of ScaryMommy’s Flashback Friday series, though sadly, that’s merely coincidence. I suck at planning.

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MommyGeek & the iGeneration

July 15, 2009 | about mommygeekology, making memories | Tags: , , , ,
4 Spoke Up - Say Something

This post was originally published on my first blog, which shall be taken down at the end of this month, as my very first blog post. I just realized that I never celebrated my 1-year blog anniversary, so today I’ll bring you back to the beginning, when I had no readers, and somehow managed to post 30 times in July.  I’ll be periodically recycling content from ye old blog, both to add that content here for posterity’s sake as well as to provide what is, likely, still fresh content to you, as I had about 1.5 readers when I started (didn’t we all?)

As another note, if you are still subscribed to this blog via the old link (I KNOW that some of you are, I see it on your sidebars!) I urge you, PLEASE, delete that subscription and add this. It will update the blog title (important for the non-googleability of the old identity with the new!) and will ensure that when I take down the other blog, I don’t accidentally lose you. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 or email!

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As the name of this blog may imply, I enjoy technology. In fact, I adore technology. I lust after technology. Technology and I have a tumultuous, relationship – the kind of relationship that Sheryl Crow was singing about when she recorded “My Favorite Mistake.” That’s right. Technology and I are lovers.

I’m a relatively young person (and I believe that all things are relative); I’ll be 24 years old this year, just days after my second child is due to arrive, and I grew up with the internet. These facts are important simply because they define who / what I am — an iGeneration mother, daughter, friend, sister, blogger, wife.

Many of you may have heard of the iGeneration. Signaling the largest generation gap since Rock & Roll burst onto the scene, the iGeneration, or Generation Now, is comprised of those of us who do not remember life without computers, the internet and the associated technology. Growing up, my mother taught me not to talk to strangers. One of the first lessons that my daughter will learn will be “Don’t provide personal information unless it’s a secure internet connection. Don’t participate in chat rooms, forums are better. If you do participate in chat rooms, don’t provide any personal identifiers, such as time zone, town, pictures, descriptions, jobs, anything. Remember to clear your personal information from Firefox at the end of your browser session. Don’t ever date a guy you met on Facebook or (God Forbid!) MySpace.” If you’re raising children now, then I imagine you’re composing a similar admonition yourself.

The New York Times published a great article about the iGeneration and what it means to be part of it. If you’re part of the iGeneration, read it. It’s interesting and insightful, in my opinion. If you aren’t part of the iGeneration, then read it because your children are.

Parenting in the age of technology is different, scary and vast. No longer is the village that raises your child found right outside your back door – the village is online at Parent Hacks, Babble, and in the comments of thousands of Mommy & Daddy blogs.

Well, I’m joining the ranks. As a young mother, a bonified iGeneration member, and a techno-geek, I’d be lax if I didn’t start a Mommy Blog! Not to mention that I hope you’ll find what I have to say here interesting, poignant, valuable, witty and entertaining. I hope that my blog provides you an opportunity to hit that “I’m not alone” epiphany that I feel every time I point my mouse to Cynical Dad, MotherBumper, Bad Parent (via Babble) and countless others (see sidebar) who have inspired me to get up, try again, and (most importantly) develop and stand by my parenting philosophies.

Editor’s note: While these were the blogs that inspired my jump into the blogger pool, I’ve found that a new identity — simply, blogger, rather than Mommy Blogger, has emerged here, I believe. Further, I read over 100 personal blogs at this point, ALL which have heavily influenced my life and my sense of self-esteem both as an individual and a mother.  So thank you.

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