Warning: The following subject matter may be uncomfortable for certain male subjects. "Girly Talk" in progress.
There is a reason that Brazilian waxes are called Brazilians - in my case it is because I would literally be getting rid of a rain forest in said area. You can tell how much a woman (mainly of the single variety) is having sex by how well she is groomed. Not only just having sex, but thinking about sex. I change my opinion...this goes for all women, as I am not just talking about the bikini area. If a woman, married or not, has not shaved her legs or has thought to herself, "well...I could probably go one more day without shaving under my arms...nobody is going to see anyway", she is not even remotely thinking about getting laid. There is also something about the chill in the air and the beginning of pants season that brings this on as well, I think. I was having a little time with myself last night (yes. I mean masturbating. everyone does it and if they don't, then they should.) and I was like, "what the fuuuuuck!". How did I not notice that this was going on? Have I been that distracted? When was the last time I actually took the time to make sure I was all pretty and stuff down there? When was the last time I thought about sex?? I can probably reference my blog or my Facebook page to answer that question, but seriously....the term "out of control" comes to mind. Let's just say I took care of the situation, in more ways than one. Speaking of Brazilian waxes, I've always wanted to get one. There is a place near my work and my home called The Pretty Kitty...I just love that name. If I can get a tattoo, I can certainly handle hot wax in my genital area. I think.
Next subject.
I was also reminded by Mr. Amazing that Christmas is around the corner, while we were speaking of commercialized celebrations. Thank you, Mr. Amazing. Thoughtful gifts are what I am all about, not how much things cost. I am not very materialistic by nature either, so it pains me when my kids make out Christmas lists that include ridiculously expensive things. I have no problem bringing their little heads out of the clouds and telling them there is no fucking way they are getting every single game system, video game, Ipod, computer, really cool toy that does a million things that they will play with for a week then throw into the bottom of their closet with the rest of the crap they've ever gotten on that outrageous list. Be glad I am not knitting you homemade sweaters (which I would totally do if I could knit) and giving you stockings full of granola and certificates stating that there is now a star with your name on it. Lets just go look at some really cool lights on a stranger's house and call it a great day, ok? And no, I'm not putting the "Christ" back in Christmas. (Holy shit. Maybe I should change my name to Scrooge.) We'll save this rant for December.
Speaking of Mr. Amazing, we have a little movie date tomorrow, which I am ecstatic about. A scary movie and some snuggling on the couch? Perfection. We talked last night on the phone and I still find it great that for two introverts, we sure do find a lot to talk about with each other. He makes me smile. I read his blog and I am inspired. Yet he calls me Muse. Oh...and he already said that he is my bitch. Score! He better be glad I am not a girl that will completely take advantage of that (I only will a little).
Lastly, the hammer has come down at work. We are no longer allowed to Facebook, play games, etc while at work. This also includes blogging, I'm sure. Sssshhhh...don't tell anyone. I have to fight the boredom somehow! It hasn't been a huge issue yet, but I'm sure it will become one. I have been piggybacking off my neighbor's wireless and all of a sudden it is secured again. Now that I am without internet at home (unless I break down and buy my own, but who wants to do that?) and I am not able to go on Facebook at work, major withdrawals will ensue. I also received, in a addition to the mass email that was sent to everyone, my own little personal email regarding tattoos in the workplace. All of a sudden, they aren't ok. My clothing and style needs to be more "work appropriate" and cover my ink. I sooo wanted to tell them to fuck off, but as they ("they" being "the man") so eloquently put it, there are plenty of people out there that will gladly do whatever the fuck the bosses want and conform as much as necessary just to have a job. School beckons. It is screaming for me to come back. I need to get over my fear of rejection and just email the counselor to ask if they will have me. The worst thing that would happen is that I would have to go to a different (less adequate) school...which I really don't want to do. I want to go to one of the best ones in the country, dammit. Regret #1,341: Dropping out of school last year. I will make it right, go back, work for myself, heal people, teach people how to heal others, and get as many tattoos as I damn well please. The End.
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