Hm. It's been a while since I've posted anything in this journal, which has given me plenty of time to think. There are a few conclusions I've come to in the past few months, things I want to put into an easily readable format but couldn't think of any other place. So, here's a rare peek into my serious side.

I suppose the first thing on my mind is that I miss being a Domme. I miss being an evil little sadist who torments my guy with his own pleasure. I may be a switch, but my core is a dominant tease. The guy I'm with now gives off those subby vibes I find so enticing, but won't admit that they're there. He finds himself to be a Dom without any submissive tendencies, but I don't think he's ever going to realize that sometimes he's just prey for the hunt, and to my inner predator, that scent is delicious. I understand some of why he feels what he does, but all I see is that he's making himself brittle trying to become too strong. Embrace all of yourself, and the parts you don't like can't be used against you.

I have to remind myself of that every so often. After a problem in our relationship that I don't really think he's quite forgiven me for, he's offered to let me find someone else to top. A generous offer, but one that's distasteful. Oh, I might play at a party, somewhere strictly for the fun of it, but never seriously. There's no passion in it, and no satisfaction. So why bother? Playing is a very sexually-charged thing, and part of our aforementioned problem was sexually based. I know he would dearly love to have that sort of fun (and more) with other women, and by expressing his willingness to share, I'm sure he's hoping that I'll be willing also. Well, I don't WANT to be shared. I want to be kept and possessed and have him feel that same gut-wrenching blow that takes away one's very breath if I should casually mention someone else. I want him to be jealous. Alas, I found myself a man who isn't designed to desire one woman. He isn't made for fidelity. I don't care that he plays, as long as I'm present. I don't even need to participate.

I want to learn new skills, but am caught in knowing that I'll probably never get to use them. So many things interest me that I'll never get to try topside, and the thought is a little depressing. So much so that for a while I thought about deleting my kink profiles and forgetting about the lifestyle altogether. Not that I could, of course, but the frustration was great enough to consider it.

I know I'm not ever really going to inspire lust in anyone. I'm not attractive. I'm barely pushing pretty. No single part of my body stands out in a crowd of others, and the overall package is nothing to write home about either. That, combined with all my confidence getting locked away with my dominance, makes for some very interesting nights when I'm alone. And he is the only one for which I would subject myself to this kind of doubt.

Ah, the things we do for love.

For those of you who have a valentine, I want to wish you my most heartfelt congratulations on finding someone so near and dear to your heart... who also shares your co-dependent tendancies. And for the rest of you, happy Singles' Awareness Day, and may you live the rest of your unattached days in ignorant bliss as to the true meaning of Valentine's Day.

Cheers.

Whenever I close my eyes, I feel so odd. Things are falling into place, but there always seems to be a piece missing. And when I finally find that piece and fit it carefully into its niche, I just seem to start all over again. If I can't find that one special thing that I need, everything keeps building and building and building until there's nothing more that I can do except admit defeat, and I do that rather more often than I'd like. I try to fool myself into thinking I'm the master of this, but I am so consistantly proven wrong.

Tetris is a VERY difficult game. I've played it so often recently that when I stop and close my eyes (sore from taking in the game in itty-bitty-eye-strain-o-vision), I still see those damned colored blocks, taunting me. Even in my MIND I fail, especially after a series of unsuccessful games. Staving off defeat as long as possible, and finding it's not as long as I'd like. When I call myself Tetris Master, I lie. Unintentionally, for until I get my ass handed to me a few times, I occasionally think it's true. And yet, it lets me build hope before dashing it to pieces, the cruel, cruel machine.

Well played, Tetris. Well played.

POLITICALLY CORRECT LORD'S PRAYER
Our (mis)Concept of Patriarchal Authority, who, it can be said, inhabits the metaphysical sphere, privileged be your signifier.
May your social structure achieve dominance.
May the enactment of your desire be manifested throughout the physical-metaphysical dichotomy.
Empower us this day with the means of material production,
And refuse to enforce sanctions against our behavior which some see as subversions of a moral perspective, just as we refuse to marginalize the moral perspectives of others who have exerted their individuality.
Don't lead us into situation that some would (mis)understand as detrimental to the full expression of our humanness, but liberate us from the concept of "evil."
For yours is the hegemony, and the dominance, and perceived mystification within the entire continuum of the Western concept of linear time.


The 23rd Composition Of The Psalmist
The Lord and I are in a shepherd-sheep relationship,
I shall not require any goods nor services to be bestowed upon my person.
He requires me to be in an open grazing area in a horizontal resting posture,
He directs me alongside non-disruptive bodies of naturally-occurring liquid substances,
He rejuvenates my non-physical self.
He leads me in my expedition towards correct behavioural practices
For the beneficial gain of His entitlement.
Although I progress in an upwardly mobile orderly fashion
I will not be overcome with trembling in the view of incorrect behavioural practices,
I sense the aura of your existence surrounding my person;
Your wooden fibrous shaft and the accompanying stick-like structure give rise to an emotive force of general well-being.
You pour a vegetable-based substance upon my cranium;
My vessel for the containment of beverages exceeds maximum capacity.
There is a high probability that uprightness and goodwill will move towards me from a reverse aspect
Throughout the duration of my non-death period,
And I will exist as a tenant in the encampment of shelter-providing places of residence under the ownership of the aforesaid Lord
Forever.

Black Hurricane

(Sent to me in an email. Funny and sad at the same time.)

Well, it appears that our African-American friends have found yet another thing to be pissed about. A black Congresswoman (this being Sheila Jackson, of Houston), reportedly complained that the names of hurricanes are all Caucasian-sounding names. She would prefer some name that reflect African-American culture such as Chamiqua, Tanisha, Woeisha, Shaqueal and Jamal. I am NOT making this up.

She would also like the weather reports to be broadcast in 'language' that street people can understand because one of the problems in New Orleans was that black people didn't understand the seriousness of the situation due to the racially biased language of the weather report. (I mean, I guess if the weather guy says that the winds are going to blow at 140+ mph, that's too hard to understand.)

I can hear it now: Wazzup mutha-fukkers! Hehr-i-cane Chamiqua be headin' fo' yo ass like Leroy on a crotch rocket! Bitch be a catagory fo'! So turn off dem chitlins, grab yo chirren, leave yo crib, and head fo' de nearest FEMA office fo' yo FREE shit!

^ This is an atrocity. Seriously. I feel really bad for the black people that are educated, well-spoken, and are going somewhere in life. They're brought down by ignorant fucks who actually speak like that, can't pronounce an entire word and have no idea what the word 'conjugate' means let alone how to do it. Learn to speak proper English. Not even PROPER English. Learn to speak job interview English, and maybe we'll stop making jokes at your expense.

(For those of you who didn't know, I am a D&D geek. This will show you just how MUCH of a geek. Then again, if you get these references, you can't say much yourself. lol)

I have sad news to share. A great man has died. The man who decided to make virgins out of entire nations has passed. *places dice bag over heart* E. Gary Gygax rolled his last saving throw yesterday. A level 30 DM came away with a natural 1 against heart failure. Probably while reading the rules to 4th ed.

Ah, Gary, there shall be millions who wish to fill your casket with d20s and place their high-level character sheets at your grave. There's no graph-paper map for where you've gone, oh geek god. You have been called to level 40 and beyond, going on to the rest of your grand adventure. It seems that wizards all around the country are pouring down rain, but not a single person can find a high-level cleric. Or perhaps your character just couldn't make the conversion to 4th edition. At least take comfort that no loot was taken from you, no XP given. I've never been too sure what your alignment might have been, so whether it's the Astral Plane, Arcadia or Elysium, I hope that at the big table in the sky, you're triple-critting right now. Tonight, and for many nights to come, the dice roll for you.

Gary, it was a... *rolls d20* ...pleasure to have you with us. *becomes the silent, cloaked figure in the dark corner of a busy bar, downing a tankard of ale, in memorium*

2d6 moments of silence, please.

Single's Awareness Day

For those of you who have a valentine, I want to wish you my most heartfelt congratulations on finding someone so near and dear to your heart... who also shares your co-dependent tendancies. As for the rest of us, happy Singles' Awareness Day, and may we live the rest of our unattached days in ignorant bliss as to the true meaning of Valentine's Day.

In the wide world of dating, there are many options Do you go for the flashy guy with the smooth smile, or the dude in the corner typing away on his laptop? The following are reasons why I think my fellow females should pay more attention to the quiet geeks and nerds, and less attention to the flashy boys.

1.) While geeks and nerds may be awkward, they’re well-meaning 9 out of 10 times. That smooth dude with the sly grin and the spider hands? Wonder what HIS intentions are... plus, I’ve never had a geek guy not call me when he said he would. Score major points THERE.

2.) They’re useful. In this tech-savvy world, it’s great to have a b/f who can make your laptop, desktop, and just about anything else that plugs into a wall behave itself.

3.) They’re more romantic than they’re given credit for. Ok true, their idea of romance might be to make up a spiffy web-page with all the reasons why they love you, with links to pics of you and sonnets and such... but hey. It lasts longer than flowers, plus you can show your friends.

4.) Due to their neglected status, there are plenty to choose from. You like ‘em tall and slender? There are plenty of geeks/nerds who are. You like ‘em smaller with more meat on their bones? Got that too.

5.) They’ve got brains. Come on now, how can intelligence be a bad thing?

6.) Most are quite good at remembering dates. Like birthdates and such, especially if they know it’ll make you happy. Due again to their neglected status, they’re more attentive than guys who “have more options”. Plus, with all that down time without a steady girlfriend, they’ll likely have mental lists of all the things they’d love to do once they GOT a girlfriend.

7.) Sex. Yep. Sex. I’m not really familiar with this myself, but I’ve friends who’ve been intimate with geek guys and it’s raves all around. They say a virgin wrote the Kama Sutra... all that time thinking about sex, imagining sex, dreaming about sex, (they are male after all) coupled with a desire to make you happy? Use your imagination.

8.) They’re relatively low-maintenance. Most can be fueled on pizza, Twinkies and Mt Dew. No complicated dinners needed here, so if you’re not the best cook, eh. Can you order a pizza?

9.) Most frequent bars as often as slugs frequent salt mines. You won’t have to worry much about your geek guy getting his “groove” on with club hotties because, frankly, he’ll be too busy rooting around under his computer wondering where that spare cable went. You won’t have to worry about him flirting with other women because, 9 out of 10 times, he’ll zip right by them in a perfect b-line towards the nearest electronics store. I’ve seen this happen.
Me: “Eww. Victoria Secret’s Models... They’re so skinny. How is that feminine? You can see her ribs!”
Geek Guy: “ooooooo...”
Me: “Hey!” *notices he is staring lustfully towards the computer store*
Geek Guy: “What?”
Me: “Never mind...”

10.) Although he may not want to go to every outing with you, you can arrange swaps, as in, you’ll go to his Gamer Con dressed as an elf princess if he’ll take you to the ballet. Plus, if he doesn’t want to go someplace with you, you won’t have to worry much about what he’s up to. You’ll probably come home to find him asleep on his keyboard in a sea of Mt. Dew cans with code blinking from the screen. It’s ok. He’s used to this. Just toss a blanket over him and turn out the light.

11.) His friends aren’t jerks. I can’t stress this enough. You’ll more likely get “Omg! A GIRL!! Can I see?!” than “Hey hot stuff back that ass up here and let me get some grub on...” They’re awkward geeks too and will, 9 times out of 10, treat you with the utmost respect and, more than likely, a note of awe. A cute girl picked one of their clan to date? It could happen to them! Hope! Drag some of your single girlfriends over, open up a pack of Mt. Dew, crack open the DnD set and get working. Nothing impresses geek guys more than a girl who can hack-n-slash (well ok maybe if she can code... a geek can dream).

12.) They’re rarely if ever possessive. They trust you, so you can be yourself around them. You like to walk around the house in a ratty t-shirt for comfort? He won’t care. He does too! They won’t get pissy if you don’t wear make-up or don’t want to bother primping your hair. If you gain a few pounds, they won’t try their best to make you feel like crap.

13.) They’re usually very well educated. Physics majors and the like. See #5. You won’t have to listen to him blathering on about his car (ok maybe a little), he’ll have loads of other interesting things to talk about. Politics, world events, how much the chicken burgers down at the local place rock, so long as you douse them in hot sauce...

14.) You’ll almost never have to hear, “Yaw dawg whazzap!!” plop out of their mouths. Unless it’s in jest. They spell properly, use correct punctuation, and are able to tell the difference between the toilet and the floor. They almost never get “wasted”, so you won’t have to worry about coming home to find him and his friends passed out on the floor amidst a pile of beer bottles. Mt. Dew cans, perhaps...

15.) And the final reason why geeks and nerds make great boyfriends: They actually give a damn about you. Not how you look (though that’s a plus), not how skinny you are, not how much make-up you primp yourself up with, but they like you for you. That kind of thing lasts longer than “DaMN baby you got a fine ass!!!” Believe me.

So, upon my first visit to Taco Bell in a long while, I realized it was the start of football season. And, as I say every year, football is NOT a religion. No one seems to listen. However, that is much besides the point. What I saw on this beverage containment unit was enough to tide me over in my rants for a good long time. On the side of this Taco Bell cup, I saw the top moments in Eagle's history. Let me list them for you.

1949 Championship v. Los Angeles
11/20/60 "The Hit Heard 'Round the World"
1960 Championship v. Green Bay
11/19/78 "Miracle at the Meadowlands"
1980 NFC Championship win v. Dallas
1980 Super Bowl v. Oakland
12/10/95 Fourth and One (twice) v. Dallas
11/17/02 McNabb's 4 TDs on broken ankle v. Arizona
1/11/04 Fourth and 26 v. Green Bay
2004 NFC Championship game win v. Atlanta
2004 Super Bowl v. New England

Seems like a pretty good list, eh? Look closely. 1949-1960, nothing happened. 1960-1978 nothing happened. 80-95, then 95-02 nothing happened. Some of these things aren't even WINS. They're just happy that they MADE it. 3 off the list from 2004, 2 from 1960 and 2 from 1980. They've made it to the Super Bowl TWICE in almost 50. Face it guys, whoever made this list had to look long and hard to create it. The Eagles suck, Philadelphia. Sorry. Maybe you should look into Pittsburgh.

So, I started out my day today by blowing every guy in my department. And a woman. In front of customers. On camera. One of the guys ended up spraying me. It got all over my face, up my nose and in my mouth, all of which was INTENSELY gross. Though, still more fun that that post oh so long ago where I got to play with blue balls in the back room under manager supervision.  See what happens when I get a little downtime at work coupled with a can of air? Yes, a can of air. You all are sick, sick individuals.

Have you ever noticed those businesses that put ads all over TV telling you that they're going out of business, please come buy the last of their crap? Then you find out a few weeks later that they actually made too MUCH money in the last sale to really GO out of business, so the TV is again plastered with useless ads? Well, I have a rememdy. Park a Super Wal-Mart next to them. That'll help them out REAL quick. In fact, every Wal-Mart that opens should host a going-out-of-business sale for their new neighbor. Kinda like a housewarming party. Only Wal-Mart keeps the profits.

And a quote of the day for good measure:
When nature calls, it's not a good idea to hope that it just leaves a message and you can get back to it later.

Something truly horrible happened at the Six Flags in Texas. A woman got both of her feet sliced off on one of the rides. Terrible, right? I feel for her. I really do. Because now, sans feet, she's not tall enough to ride the adult rides. How did THAT conversation go? "I'm sorry ma'am, but if you ever decide to come back to our establishment, you're stuck in the kiddie area. Here, have some free admission to the water park." Pfft. Like this woman likes water parks. o.0  I'm a bad person, aren't I?   >.<

Benny: Who's your favourite fiction writer?
Murray: My accountant.

It's not the extreme right or left that will take us to hell in a hand basket. It's the vast, indifferent middle.

Why do they give you a watch when you retire when it's the first time in your life you really don't care what time it is?

Why do they tell you the temperature at the airport? Nobody I know lives at the airport.

So, I realize, the day after my birthday... my mother waited until I was 22 to give me a sex talk. Even more strangely, it was the same talk she gave my sister. My YOUNGER sister. *shakes head* Welcome to my world...

But this brought on a few odd thoughts. One. It should not be the birds and the bees. It should be cats and roosters. Think on this for a moment and see if you get the joke. If you don't, ask someone who did. While this analogy is only SLIGHTLY less confusing to a child, when they get older they'll give the parental units kudos for being creative.

Two. When adults get to be about 45, they should be sat down again. This one uses the birds and bees, if you didn't think the above idea was even the slightest bit amusing. This talk should go something like "You know kids, when the bee was young, his stinger was always ready. When he gets a bit older, it droops a little, doesn't sting like it used to. This is all quite normal. Here, take this little blue pill."

God, am I bad or what?

I realized the most interesting thing today. For those of you who don't know, I'm trapped at the mercy of the evil empire... Wal-Mart. Yes, pity me. Anyhow, as a cashier (for now, mwahahahahaha), I know all the age-restricted products. 17 for R-rated movies, 18 for smokes and nicotine patches and gum, and butane and cough medicine and super glue and CANNED AIR. Sorry, if huffing AIR is bad for you, we need to tell the surgeon general STAT. Sorry. Back to the story. All that is age-restricted. Okay, got it. This lady came up with a blowtorch. No beep. We were both stunned. In a land as retarded as America, my little 16-year-old sister can't buy glue, but my 10-year-old cousin could technically buy a blowtorch. WTF man?

Do you know what's worse than one geek watching the latest D&D movie? A GROUP of geeks watching the latest D&D movie and managing to make "in-game" commentary. Then again, that really IS the only way to enjoy such a movie. Making up even more geeky "players" behind the characters in the movie makes for a hilarious hour and a half. And then trying to figure out how a 5th level caster defeated a COLOSSAL BLACK DRAGON all by herself makes for another interesting half hour argument. *grin* If I haven't scared you yet, message me. I have not yet BEGUN to geek. [insert evil cackle here]

The Uncompleted List as to Why Dogs are Better than Kids:
1. Dogs don't hold grudges for years after your yell at them for doing something stupid.
2. You'll never lay in bed wondering where your dog is at 3 am.
3. Your dog will never drag you onto Rikki Lake.
4. To send a dog to school costs less than $60... and they almost ALWAYS retain what they learn.
5. You have complete control over your dog's sex life.
6. It's nearly impossible to convince your dog to take any form of drug.
7. You never have to buy cool clothes and CDs for your dog to fit in with all the other dogs.
8. You can pick your dog's friends.
9. A dog doesn't waste any food from the table.
10. You have a believeable source to blame your stinkbombs on.

Just some quotes that, while amusing, hold some universal truths for us all:

--Some people are like Slinkies: they have no practical use whatsoever, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

--Friends are like wedgies: they're intimately close, and it feels great when you pick a good one.

--Don't raise your hands to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected.

--Before giving anyone a piece of your mind, be sure you have enough to spare.

--Duct tape is like the Force: it has a light side and a dark side and it binds the universe together.

--The road to sucess is always under construction.

--I can only please one person per day. Today is NOT your day. Tomorrow isn't looking too good either.

--Why don't you slip into something more comfortable... like a coma.

Frogs, contrary to popular belief, canNOT swim. (Frogger)

The more revealing the outfit, the more that lady will kick your ass. (most fighting games)

Travel is next to impossible without first saving a person/city/town/world, only to find that the place you wanted to go actually won't help you in the least. (RPGs)

Shoplifting, pickpocketing, and robbing are all valid ways of acquiring objects. (RPGs)

More savepoints equal more enemies, which equals your proximity to something important. (FPS, RPGs)

You can never have enough items.
All items take up the same amount of space, despite their actual size.
(RPGs)

By pressing buttons in a sequence that looks like it should be done by a double-jointed octopus, your life can be saved. (GTA, Mortal Kombat combos)

You and perhaps three friends can take on the world. (RPGs)

Don't do the crime if you can't do the time... or if you can't escape the cops. (GTA)

Headless men CAN scream. (Serious Sam)

Eat everything. (Pacman)

Shooting flaming men is not an anti-gay statement. (Total Carnage)

You know, I want to date a hacker. Just to see the kinds of romantic gifts that come from a union like that. All of a sudden "Honey, I got us tickets to the Bahamas" takes on an entirely new meaning.

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal.  The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight:  Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids.  I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours.  "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet."  So I headed to the site of my demise, the bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits.  No melting a clump of hot wax; you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm, and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and then pull the hair right off.  No muss, no fuss.  How hard could it be?

I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out.  Its two strips face each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in.  So I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax."  Yeah...right!)

I lay the strip across my thigh, hold the skin around it tight and pull.  It works!  OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad.  I can do this!  Hair removal no longer eludes me!  I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.  With my next wax strip I move north.

After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom for the ultimate hair fighting championship.  I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet.  Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my "hoo-hoo" and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek.  (Yes, it was a long strip.)  I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!!  Blinded from pain!!!!  OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!  Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!!

Another deep breath and RRIIPP!!  Everything is swirly and spotted.  I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums???  Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it.  I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair.  I hold up the strip.  There's no hair on it.  Where is the hair???  WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet.  I see the hair.  The hair that should be on the strip.  I touch.  I am touching wax.

CRAP!  I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.  Then I make the next BIG mistake (remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet).  I know I need to do something.  So I put my foot down.  DANG!!!!!!!!  I hear the

slamming of a cell door.  "Hoo-hoo?  Sealed shut!

Butt?? Sealed shut!  I penguin-walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself,  "Please don't let me get the urge to poop.  My head may pop off!"  What can I do to melt the wax?  Hot water!!  Hot water melts wax!!!

I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???   WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment.  I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water.  Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!  God bless the man who convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone.  It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and hoo-hoo are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause.  She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me.  She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hoo-hoo?"

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her.  I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.  YEAH! Right!!  I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor.  Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.  What do I really have to lose at this point?  I rub some on and OH, HOLY CHRISTOPHER!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.  It's sooo painful, but I really don't care.  "IT WORKS!!  It works!!"

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.  I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!

So I recklessly shave it off.  Heck, I'm numb by now.  Nothing hurts.  I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color......Not  !!!!!!

==================
Okay, that wasn't mine. A friend stole it from someone else and posted it on her blog, so I have no idea who the real author is. Funny as hell though.