This Week's Great New Thing

While enveloped in my very latest creative rut, it occurred to me that maybe I need to broaden my horizons a bit. So, I've decided to try something new every week, whether it's taking a trip to Tonga or buying that mysterious ugli fruit that I keep passing by in the produce aisle at the grocery store. And, just in case others out there may be interested, I thought I'd chronicle in a blog my baby steps into some of these hot (or tepid) new frontiers. Hope you enjoy it. --S.L. Malone

Monday, June 26, 2006

The Brazilian Bikini Wax


This is what I would like to know--what sadistic, evil, torture-mongering misogynist determined that a hair-free womanly quadrant was an element of beauty, and that it was socially acceptable to achieve said beauty through such an exceedingly displeasurable method?

Yes, I have experienced the cartoonish torment of the Brazilian Bikini Wax and lived to tell about it. Please understand that I am very much a neat freak when it comes to the care and maintenance of my…lawn, as it were…and have always paid careful attention to my personal grooming. I am not (fortunately) a naturally fuzzy individual. My grandmother, for example, has never in her life needed to shave her legs, and I thank her for passing on those easy-to-manage genes to me. And as many women have, I’ve over the years experimented with various “hairstyles” and methods to achieve them, many times in conjunction with the specific likes of a particular boyfriend. I have even attempted Brazilian waxing at home, a practice I do not recommend for anyone who is not a professional contortionist with training as an aesthetician and no pain sensors in their brain. At any rate, since summer is upon us and I was due for some lawn maintenance anyway, I decided to take the plunge and get professionally pummeled.

Here’s the good news—the entire procedure takes fifteen minutes, in contrast to a miserable 60 minutes of splayed-out ripping on the bathroom floor at home. And the price tag of $50 is actually rather conservative in the litany of female spa procedures. Here’s the bad news—I think I’m now technically having an affair with my aesthetician, since she has seen me in positions that I don’t believe I’ve ever assumed with any of the above-referenced boyfriends. Allow me to summarize the protocol for my "Brazilian Bonanza", for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure as of yet:

  • Step One—Walk into the treatment room with the technician (let’s call her Bonnie) and discuss the weather.
  • Step 2—Drop your drawers while Bonnie heats up the wax, and walk your half-naked self over to the table, which is covered in paper just like at the doctor’s office.
  • Step 3—Lay on your back, bring the soles of your feet together and attempt to respond to Bonnie’s idle chit-chat while she layers baby powder and then really warm wax over your most intimate of intimates, with a bird’s eye view into your womb.
  • Step 4—Using a labor-like breathing technique Bonnie’s taught you, exhale deeply as she repeatedly rip, rip, rips out that unsightly hair growth.

Side note--have I mentioned Bonnie's trainee? Oh yes--before passing the baton to her young apprentice, she must be schooled in the art of the female wax, and I have courteously agreed (what else am I gonna do?) to allow Bonnie's pupil to observe our session. Therefore, every step is accompanied by Bonnie's commentary on how to apply the wax, which "folds" to move aside, which direction the hair grows in this particular crevice, etc. and so forth. I'm not kidding.

  • Step 5—Be thankful that you study yoga as Bonnie has you lift each leg to your head in turn so that she can get to the hairs in places you didn’t even know you had.
  • Step 6--Roll over on your stomach and be thankful that you’ve just showered as Bonnie explores the depths of your butt in a search for follicular rebels. Side note—as she explained to her apprentice, Bonnie uses Steps 5 and 6 instead of asking clients to get on all fours to provide access to the same areas. She finds it a degrading position that is unneccessary, and I couldn’t agree more.
  • Step 7—Bonnie applies antiseptic and a little more baby powder to your now perfectly smooth woman-parts. You’re done.


I had to admire Bonnie’s efficiency—she got me in and out of those positions as quickly as she possibly could, but got every damn hair down there in the process. At first, I was perfectly mortified by the idea of her seeing me in such a state of vulnerability (I am a rather modest gal), but I felt a little better when she told me that this was her third Brazilian of the day, and it’s a normal day. So, in the final analysis, two days from now Bonnie will not remember a single thing about my womanhood, but will be busily rip, rip, ripping away at one of many other unsuspecting victims.

As I walked home from the spa, slightly humiliated, slightly sore, and deeply impressed at my tolerance to pain, I marveled that women actually go through this ordeal (and pay for it) once a month just to achieve a little extra smoothness and neatness. Wouldn’t the good old bikini line wax or shave do the trick? It’s cheaper, faster, and produces a lot less discomfort. Plus, it keeps in place some natural down that some part of me still thinks ought to be there. Is it really that much better to go Brazilian? Though it’s all still a mystery to me, my next appointment for pain with Bonnie is in four weeks.


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Monday, June 19, 2006

The Six-Week Body Makeover


Editorial Note: Technically, I began this process two weeks ago, but since this is my first post, I reserve the right to alter the timing just a little bit. Call it poetic license.

After months of careful belly and butt monitoring, my sweetie and I determined that our respective girths were spiraling a bit out of control, and with the very real threat of bathing suit season looming, we made the commitment to try Something New to get back into our "good body" jeans. We were not WAY out of control, mind you--I'm a relatively little thing at 5'3", and just wanted to trim away about 20 or so of my 150 pounds and get back into my usual size 8, if not down to a 6 (be still, my heart!). My sweetheart, Sam, had been busy nurturing that ubiquitous middle-aged belly that magically begins to grow the day after a man turns thirty. That was his only area of excess flesh, however, a fact that irks me to no end as I examine my blossoming frame in the mirror.

At any rate, during an episode of Extreme Makeover (accompanied by a few truffles and some red zinfandel), we decided that we dug Michael Thurmond, the resident post-op fitness guru who uses stomach crunches and sweet potatoes to chisel out the David-esque masterpiece hidden within each of his subjects. Eureka! Enter the Michael Thurmond Six-Week Body Makeover. With bated breath, we laid out the ingredients of the makeover kit, watched the peppy intro video, constructed our respective shapes from a library of disturbing cardboard body parts, and voila! A customized plan for our body types unfolded in front of us with majestic simplicity. It seemed that just a few simple steps were needed to get us both back into fighting form:

  • Eat five times a day, every day (break my heart)
  • Do 18 minutes of strength training twice a week (piece of cake, especially using the handy resistance band included in the Makeover Kit)
  • Walk 45-60 minutes, 4-5 times per week (for those of us who are unemployed, not an issue)
  • Limit our diet to prescribed (meaning human versus standard American) serving sizes of lean protein, complex carbs, fruits and veggies (that means no salt, no fat, not even any olive oil--again, for those of us who are unemployed and can cook at home every day, not an issue)
  • Drink around 100 ounces of water every day (provided you have time to make trips to a bathroom every 15 minutes, not an issue)

So, we plowed ahead, water bottles in hand. Eating the right foods five times a day has been a challenge, since we both travel quite a bit professionally, but that's really been the biggest hurdle. So far, Sam's down about ten pounds, and I've lost five (even taking into account the water I'm retaining at the moment--but this is merely a temporary molestation).


The Thurmond plan allows for one "cheat day" per week after one has reached one's goal, but we've decided to employ that option now, since we're doing great and so that we don't fall off the wagon at any other time. Today is our first cheat day, and we'll be celebrating with Oreos, pizza and a chocolate shake at the 50's-style malt shop around the corner. Just another benefit of that five-meals-a-day requirement.


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