Text message from my husband to me: Hey, I'm going to the grocery store....do we need anything?
Me: No, I don't think so...why are you going to the grocery store?
Him: I need rubber gloves and a scalpel.
Me: Um....what?
Him: Rubber gloves and a scalpel...to skin my deer.
Me: (Holy shit...well, good thing that was your answer because seriously? I was totally picturing you as a serial killer.) And you think they have them at the grocery store??
Him: Yeah, they have everything there.
Me: I'm going to go out on a limb here and say probably not that.
Couple of hours later:
Him: You were right....no scalpels at the grocery store.
Me: Duh...
Him: But I did get a package of them. From Tractor Supply.
Me: Of cour....wait....a "package"??? Like, how many do you need?? (Serial killer image coming back to mind....)
Him: Idk, but this way I'll have extras.
Me: And why in the hell does Tractor Supply have scalpels??
Him: For cattle castration....duh....
Me: Oh. You mean not everyone uses their pocket knife like my dad did?? Weird....
Him: Really??? And *I'm* the biggest redneck you know????
You can't make this shit up.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Yes, Virginia, there really is an afterlife....you just don't really want to think about it.
No, I'm not dead. I'm just completely overwhelmed with work, the impending holidays, the recently passed turkey day and all the day-to-day crapola that it takes to keep a household running, a husband at least somewhat happy and a kid halfway between "homeless child wipedown" and "clean".
However, if I really was dead, then I'd be typing this from the beyond...weird, huh? So this would be a message from the afterlife, more specifically, *my* afterlife....which I'm pretty sure will be....er...South. Do you think computers can withstand flames? I mean, I guess being raised Catholic and attending 13 years of parochial school left me with a fairly healthy respect for the idea of hell.
It also left me with a pretty good idea that I'm probably going to end up there at some point.
I mean, I'm pretty sure you don't live out my 20s and still get to push the "Up" button....just sayin'.
So here's what I picture: I'll die, wake up in a hotel hallway facing an elevator bank and all the buttons will only point down. Left with no clear choice, I'll push the down button, the elevator doors will open and voila! The elevator will be filled with Madalyn Murray-O'Hair, Ozzie Osbourne, Osama Bin Laden, Hitler, 50 million cats and like 20 people I know. (No, not you....I would never say you're going to hell. Oh, yes, definitely you. And you. And most likely you.) And I think, despite the threat of eternity in hell, there will be a bit of a festive atmosphere. At least, I hope.
Not really...I'm just being twisted and perhaps funny? Probably not. But I plead temporary insanity brought on by exhaustion.
However, I do now and will always maintain that cats are from the devil. So they are probably the truest part of this scenario.
This is so NOT what I intended to write about when I sat down at my computer...I mean, who says to themselves, "I think I'll write about going to hell today". Jeez....I'm such a weirdo.
However, if I really was dead, then I'd be typing this from the beyond...weird, huh? So this would be a message from the afterlife, more specifically, *my* afterlife....which I'm pretty sure will be....er...South. Do you think computers can withstand flames? I mean, I guess being raised Catholic and attending 13 years of parochial school left me with a fairly healthy respect for the idea of hell.
It also left me with a pretty good idea that I'm probably going to end up there at some point.
I mean, I'm pretty sure you don't live out my 20s and still get to push the "Up" button....just sayin'.
So here's what I picture: I'll die, wake up in a hotel hallway facing an elevator bank and all the buttons will only point down. Left with no clear choice, I'll push the down button, the elevator doors will open and voila! The elevator will be filled with Madalyn Murray-O'Hair, Ozzie Osbourne, Osama Bin Laden, Hitler, 50 million cats and like 20 people I know. (No, not you....I would never say you're going to hell. Oh, yes, definitely you. And you. And most likely you.) And I think, despite the threat of eternity in hell, there will be a bit of a festive atmosphere. At least, I hope.
Not really...I'm just being twisted and perhaps funny? Probably not. But I plead temporary insanity brought on by exhaustion.
However, I do now and will always maintain that cats are from the devil. So they are probably the truest part of this scenario.
This is so NOT what I intended to write about when I sat down at my computer...I mean, who says to themselves, "I think I'll write about going to hell today". Jeez....I'm such a weirdo.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Friendship Guidelines (not so much "rules"…just "guidelines"….sort of like being a pirate with Johnny Depp)
#1: If you're in the midst of a crisis, PLEASE call! I'll talk to you, I'll agree with your gripes, I'll cry with you if need be! DON'T go through a crisis and get all pissed off at me for not using my Jedi mind powers to know that you were going through something and needed a friend. And facebooking your crises and expecting everyone to comment on your "poor, pitiful me" status updates is LAME. You don't need a friend in that case, you just need attention.
#2: Don't tell me what a total freakin' loser/jerk/dick/douche/bitch your husband/fiancée/boyfriend/girlfriend/life partner/significant other is and then expect me to be nice to him/her/it the next time I see y'all together.
#3: I generally don't feel the need to talk to my friends every single day. I know you are my friend and you know I am your friend. We should feel secure in our "friendness" with one another. I may, however, text you in the middle of the night after a fewbottles…er...glasses of wine letting you know that I think __________ (insert random person/picture/email/facebook post) is the funniest damn thing I have EVER SEEN! This serves as validation of our friendship…it means I like you, not that I want to annoy you….even if annoying you accidentally happened in the process.
#4: Along those same lines, I enjoy being alone. My saying "no" to hanging out with you has way less to do with you and your issues and way more to do with me needing downtime. It just gets tiring being this freakin' awesome all the time…I mean, the awesomeness has to get some rest! So, don't take it personally. (Yes, I'm totally kidding about the being freakin' awesome part…but not so much about the being alone part).
#5: I don't like cats or little fluffy dogs (please refer to this and this for specific details). I still have somehow managed to like you even though you like cats or little fluffy dogs….don't fuck it up by allowing said cat or little fluffy dog to climb on me, sit near me, lick me or hunch my leg.
#6: You are welcome at my house any time of the day or night. No problem! We can hang out! Bring beer! Do not expect my house to be clean. I will feed you, but I will not clean for you. You probably won't even notice since we'll most likely be hanging out outside. If you do not like to hang out outside and would prefer to hang out in a nice, clean house, how are we friends?
#7: I like to eat….and have drinks. I do NOT like to: work out, exercise, go running, go walking, try the new Latin dance class you're going to that's really a workout hiding behind funky music and hip gyrations. Happy hour? Call me. Work out? Phone a(nother) friend.
#8: While I am a sarcastic and cynical person, I do have my insecurities. When I call you feeling insecure and whiny and you are concerned about me and think we should get together and talk so you can "cheer me up", happy hour is a perfectly reasonable suggestion. For the love of all that is holy, SUGGEST IT!
#9: Yes, I do have friends that don't drink. I don't *always* have to drink alcohol to have fun. I like non-alcoholic outings such as going to festivals, going shopping, riding horses, etc. These things are not generally good mixes with alcohol. BUT. If you have invited me to: play golf, go bowling, fish, hunt, go to the lake/river, go to one of those indoor kid's game/pizza places, go out to dinner or come over to play cards, cook out and sit by the fire? I will come with an ice chest or order wine. Don't judge.
#10: I really don't have another one, but I can't stand lists with odd numbers of items on them. OCD much? Why yes, don't mind if I do.
#2: Don't tell me what a total freakin' loser/jerk/dick/douche/bitch your husband/fiancée/boyfriend/girlfriend/life partner/significant other is and then expect me to be nice to him/her/it the next time I see y'all together.
#3: I generally don't feel the need to talk to my friends every single day. I know you are my friend and you know I am your friend. We should feel secure in our "friendness" with one another. I may, however, text you in the middle of the night after a few
#4: Along those same lines, I enjoy being alone. My saying "no" to hanging out with you has way less to do with you and your issues and way more to do with me needing downtime. It just gets tiring being this freakin' awesome all the time…I mean, the awesomeness has to get some rest! So, don't take it personally. (Yes, I'm totally kidding about the being freakin' awesome part…but not so much about the being alone part).
#5: I don't like cats or little fluffy dogs (please refer to this and this for specific details). I still have somehow managed to like you even though you like cats or little fluffy dogs….don't fuck it up by allowing said cat or little fluffy dog to climb on me, sit near me, lick me or hunch my leg.
#6: You are welcome at my house any time of the day or night. No problem! We can hang out! Bring beer! Do not expect my house to be clean. I will feed you, but I will not clean for you. You probably won't even notice since we'll most likely be hanging out outside. If you do not like to hang out outside and would prefer to hang out in a nice, clean house, how are we friends?
#7: I like to eat….and have drinks. I do NOT like to: work out, exercise, go running, go walking, try the new Latin dance class you're going to that's really a workout hiding behind funky music and hip gyrations. Happy hour? Call me. Work out? Phone a(nother) friend.
#8: While I am a sarcastic and cynical person, I do have my insecurities. When I call you feeling insecure and whiny and you are concerned about me and think we should get together and talk so you can "cheer me up", happy hour is a perfectly reasonable suggestion. For the love of all that is holy, SUGGEST IT!
#9: Yes, I do have friends that don't drink. I don't *always* have to drink alcohol to have fun. I like non-alcoholic outings such as going to festivals, going shopping, riding horses, etc. These things are not generally good mixes with alcohol. BUT. If you have invited me to: play golf, go bowling, fish, hunt, go to the lake/river, go to one of those indoor kid's game/pizza places, go out to dinner or come over to play cards, cook out and sit by the fire? I will come with an ice chest or order wine. Don't judge.
#10: I really don't have another one, but I can't stand lists with odd numbers of items on them. OCD much? Why yes, don't mind if I do.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Oh Canada!
My husband sold his truck! Good news because: 1) no more truck payment and 2) new (to me) car for ME!!!
Woohoo!
The weird thing about it was, he sold it to some guy in Canada. CANADA! Holy crap dude! That's a long damn way to travel to buy a truck! I mean, they do sell trucks in Canada, right?? But apparently, they're like, super expensive and it's hard to find a good used one because of all the salt they use on the road for the ice and snow and blah, blah, blah. (Can you tell when I quit listening?)
Anyway, the whole experience has been rather….odd. Because there's a lot of back and forth and mailing deposit checks and working with international banks and yadda yadda yadda. So it's kind of been a cluster fuck and it's still not over! I think we're seriously going on like a month of bank/funds/international dealings. (Don't we sound so worldly??)
So Ronnie's telling me all about this and how our bank is talking to their bank and on and on…and then he's all, "And I just couldn't get a clear answer, so I decided to call the Bank of Montreal and talk to the guy who signed off on the cashier's check and figure out what the hold up was." And I'm all, "Yeah, I can see....Wait. You called who?" And he says, "The Bank of Montreal". And I'm like, "YOU CALLED CANADA?!?! ON YOUR CELL PHONE?!!?" And he's all,"……yeeeaah……why? Was that bad?"
REALLY!?!?!
"Um, Canada's like a whole other country dude! That probably cost like $5.00 a minute! WTF!?!? How long were you on the phone?!?"
"About five minutes…besides, Canada's like the US…I mean, it's just right up there north of us."
Okay, yes, that's it…Canada's totally the US….except for the fact that it's its OWN FREAKIN' COUNTRY!! Didn't you see the Southpark movie where we declared WAR on Canada?!!? Why would we declare war on ourselves, you moron!?!? (Sidebar: in retrospect, not the best argument for why Canada is its own country, but I was so flabbergasted by his whole 'It's just the extreme northern US' argument, I couldn't come up with anything really coherent...) (Second Sidebar: Don't you just love using the word "flabbergasted"?? Me, too!!)
And he's like "Jeez…chill. It's not that big of a deal…I'm sure it wasn't that expensive."
In other news: Verizon Wireless confirms that calls to Canada are $.49 per minute. Oh, and Canadians have confirmed that they are, in fact, a country.
Oh, and yes, I freakin' LOVE my new car. Seriously. Like, I just want to move into it. I spent most of Sunday just sitting in it in the driveway. I'm not kidding.
Woohoo!
The weird thing about it was, he sold it to some guy in Canada. CANADA! Holy crap dude! That's a long damn way to travel to buy a truck! I mean, they do sell trucks in Canada, right?? But apparently, they're like, super expensive and it's hard to find a good used one because of all the salt they use on the road for the ice and snow and blah, blah, blah. (Can you tell when I quit listening?)
Anyway, the whole experience has been rather….odd. Because there's a lot of back and forth and mailing deposit checks and working with international banks and yadda yadda yadda. So it's kind of been a cluster fuck and it's still not over! I think we're seriously going on like a month of bank/funds/international dealings. (Don't we sound so worldly??)
So Ronnie's telling me all about this and how our bank is talking to their bank and on and on…and then he's all, "And I just couldn't get a clear answer, so I decided to call the Bank of Montreal and talk to the guy who signed off on the cashier's check and figure out what the hold up was." And I'm all, "Yeah, I can see....Wait. You called who?" And he says, "The Bank of Montreal". And I'm like, "YOU CALLED CANADA?!?! ON YOUR CELL PHONE?!!?" And he's all,"……yeeeaah……why? Was that bad?"
REALLY!?!?!
"Um, Canada's like a whole other country dude! That probably cost like $5.00 a minute! WTF!?!? How long were you on the phone?!?"
"About five minutes…besides, Canada's like the US…I mean, it's just right up there north of us."
Okay, yes, that's it…Canada's totally the US….except for the fact that it's its OWN FREAKIN' COUNTRY!! Didn't you see the Southpark movie where we declared WAR on Canada?!!? Why would we declare war on ourselves, you moron!?!? (Sidebar: in retrospect, not the best argument for why Canada is its own country, but I was so flabbergasted by his whole 'It's just the extreme northern US' argument, I couldn't come up with anything really coherent...) (Second Sidebar: Don't you just love using the word "flabbergasted"?? Me, too!!)
And he's like "Jeez…chill. It's not that big of a deal…I'm sure it wasn't that expensive."
In other news: Verizon Wireless confirms that calls to Canada are $.49 per minute. Oh, and Canadians have confirmed that they are, in fact, a country.
Oh, and yes, I freakin' LOVE my new car. Seriously. Like, I just want to move into it. I spent most of Sunday just sitting in it in the driveway. I'm not kidding.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
So, Vanilla Ice apparently has mad construction skills.
So. (Sidebar: Have you noticed how many times I start sentences or posts with "so"?? Weird.) Anyway, so we recently acquired cable…well, satellite actually because we live in the boonies and can't get actual cable. I did not want the satellite…preferring instead to spend my time in much more useful endeavors like reading….or facebooking…or drinking beer. So (there it is again! Dammit Jim!), guess who did?
Yep. HE wanted the satellite.
So (Ohmigod…make me stop!) to the satellite store we go. Not really…I mean, you order satellite off the infomercial when it comes on regular TV by quickly dialing the 1-800 number they flash on the screen for like .03 seconds when there's no way of actually dialing the entire number before it disappears from view. Or, you get on the intraweb….man is that thing handy.
So (seriously, it's like an addiction at this point…), anyway, we have satellite.
And, can I just tell you that the hours that he has since spent watching the hunting channel have a direct correlation to the hours that are NOT spent doing useful things like cleaning the house, playing with the kid or, you know, showering.
And I hate the satellite. (Not so much because of that…because let's just be honest here, how much housecleaning was he *really* doing when we didn't have satellite? At least now, he's not following me around while I'm cleaning wanting to know if we can have sex….he's occupied with The Duck Commander…who I'm pretty sure can scare anyone off of having sex for a good long time. Have you seen these dudes?? SCARY. Yet oddly representative of the North Louisiana redneck I grew up with...)
But I digress (again).
I hate the satellite because I am now sucked in to the most random shit on TV and it clogs my brain with useless trivia that is taking up space where other information (like when my kids' birthdays are, my voicemail password or the last time I shaved my armpits) needs to be stored.
So (Holy Lord...I'm going to have to start some sort of 12-step program!) I now know, for example, that Vanilla Ice's retirement plan includes owning his own construction company. He specializes in remodeling and has his own show on the Do-It-Yourself Network.
Reality Shows I Could Host/Star In When I Retire:
- Bottles vs. Cans: The Ultimate Showdown
-Living with Three Dogs and Why You Shouldn't Do It
-25 Minute Meals That Convince Your Family You *Actually* Cooked Dinner
-Pint Glass Collection Roadshow
-Save the Hoohas: A History of Women's Body Hair Trends
On another note, this is blog post 100! Holy shit balls! I can't believe I actually came up with 100 posts of random crap to talk about! I hope you have been at least a little amused…thanks for sticking with me! ~NTS
Yep. HE wanted the satellite.
So (Ohmigod…make me stop!) to the satellite store we go. Not really…I mean, you order satellite off the infomercial when it comes on regular TV by quickly dialing the 1-800 number they flash on the screen for like .03 seconds when there's no way of actually dialing the entire number before it disappears from view. Or, you get on the intraweb….man is that thing handy.
So (seriously, it's like an addiction at this point…), anyway, we have satellite.
And, can I just tell you that the hours that he has since spent watching the hunting channel have a direct correlation to the hours that are NOT spent doing useful things like cleaning the house, playing with the kid or, you know, showering.
And I hate the satellite. (Not so much because of that…because let's just be honest here, how much housecleaning was he *really* doing when we didn't have satellite? At least now, he's not following me around while I'm cleaning wanting to know if we can have sex….he's occupied with The Duck Commander…who I'm pretty sure can scare anyone off of having sex for a good long time. Have you seen these dudes?? SCARY. Yet oddly representative of the North Louisiana redneck I grew up with...)
But I digress (again).
I hate the satellite because I am now sucked in to the most random shit on TV and it clogs my brain with useless trivia that is taking up space where other information (like when my kids' birthdays are, my voicemail password or the last time I shaved my armpits) needs to be stored.
So (Holy Lord...I'm going to have to start some sort of 12-step program!) I now know, for example, that Vanilla Ice's retirement plan includes owning his own construction company. He specializes in remodeling and has his own show on the Do-It-Yourself Network.
Reality Shows I Could Host/Star In When I Retire:
- Bottles vs. Cans: The Ultimate Showdown
-Living with Three Dogs and Why You Shouldn't Do It
-25 Minute Meals That Convince Your Family You *Actually* Cooked Dinner
-Pint Glass Collection Roadshow
-Save the Hoohas: A History of Women's Body Hair Trends
On another note, this is blog post 100! Holy shit balls! I can't believe I actually came up with 100 posts of random crap to talk about! I hope you have been at least a little amused…thanks for sticking with me! ~NTS
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Whales Have Their Own "Save Us" Thing, So Why Can't We??
So the last few posts have been swirling around in my brain for some time trying, somehow, to mesh into this fledgling idea for an advertising campaign.
Let's review:
-I should've/almost/sort of went to law school
-My husband almost died of salmonella, but was saved by a hot Brazilian doctor and her rectal exam
-I am strongly opposed to vaginal abuse
Um, okay, so the second one really has nothing to do with with anything....BUT
What do the other two coalesce into in my (arguably) brilliant mind?
SAVE THE HOOHAS!
Think: "Save the Tatas" or "I Love Boobies", but without the requirement for fundraising.
Isn't that freakin' awesome?!!?
A whole advertising campaign centered around a woman's right to choose the state of her hooha hairiness without being forced to give in to the media pressure to be bald, blinged, shaved or sugared!
Just picture it: wristbands urging consumers to SAVE THE HOOHAS!, T-shirts that say "I *heart* my hooha" or "I love coochies", infomercials urging women to make informed decisions about shaving, waxing, sugaring, threading or vajazzling their nether regions by getting all the facts FIRST!
*GASP* I just had the best idea!!! Vajazzling kits done in our very own lime green ribbons for "Happy Hooha Awareness Month"!!! OMG!!! LOVE IT!! (And yes, the color for this campaign is lime green. Um, look around…I flippin' love lime green. Oh, and pink, besides being already taken for "Save the Tatas" is also, somehow, grossing me out as the color for a vaginal-treatment awareness campaign. Blech.)
Man…it's going to be awesome.
We are changing the world one neatly trimmed vagina at a time, my friends. We should have a kick-off event! But none of the typical fundraising things like a bake sale or a 5K or whatever. How about a margarita tasting (hellooo..lime green!)?!!? $20 bucks gets you a margarita glass (inscribed with "I have a happy hooha!") and several margarita tasters! All proceeds benefit….um….our vaginal abuse charity (or, me).
I feel like Mikey in the Goonies "Down here, it's our time! It's our time down here!"…or "down there"…as the case may be.
And I only picked June because nothing really happens in June....besides summer...and my husband's birthday, but nothing like "national" or anything.
Let's review:
-I should've/almost/sort of went to law school
-My husband almost died of salmonella, but was saved by a hot Brazilian doctor and her rectal exam
-I am strongly opposed to vaginal abuse
Um, okay, so the second one really has nothing to do with with anything....BUT
What do the other two coalesce into in my (arguably) brilliant mind?
SAVE THE HOOHAS!
Think: "Save the Tatas" or "I Love Boobies", but without the requirement for fundraising.
Isn't that freakin' awesome?!!?
A whole advertising campaign centered around a woman's right to choose the state of her hooha hairiness without being forced to give in to the media pressure to be bald, blinged, shaved or sugared!
Just picture it: wristbands urging consumers to SAVE THE HOOHAS!, T-shirts that say "I *heart* my hooha" or "I love coochies", infomercials urging women to make informed decisions about shaving, waxing, sugaring, threading or vajazzling their nether regions by getting all the facts FIRST!
*GASP* I just had the best idea!!! Vajazzling kits done in our very own lime green ribbons for "Happy Hooha Awareness Month"!!! OMG!!! LOVE IT!! (And yes, the color for this campaign is lime green. Um, look around…I flippin' love lime green. Oh, and pink, besides being already taken for "Save the Tatas" is also, somehow, grossing me out as the color for a vaginal-treatment awareness campaign. Blech.)
Man…it's going to be awesome.
We are changing the world one neatly trimmed vagina at a time, my friends. We should have a kick-off event! But none of the typical fundraising things like a bake sale or a 5K or whatever. How about a margarita tasting (hellooo..lime green!)?!!? $20 bucks gets you a margarita glass (inscribed with "I have a happy hooha!") and several margarita tasters! All proceeds benefit….um….our vaginal abuse charity (or, me).
I feel like Mikey in the Goonies "Down here, it's our time! It's our time down here!"…or "down there"…as the case may be.
And I only picked June because nothing really happens in June....besides summer...and my husband's birthday, but nothing like "national" or anything.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Well, hey sugar! Come on over here and have a seat!
I had dinner with a girlfriend the other night...which is something that like, almost never happens. For some reason, it's just too much of a hassle to get the kid home, wait for my husband to get home, get all ready and then drive downtown. Because really? What's the point of going out to dinner with your girls if you're just going to the same restaurant you always go to with your husband and kids??
Um, no. Girl dinner is all about good wine, good food and good company.
So it was great. I hadn't seen this particular friend in a while and she travels regularly for work, so it was good to sit down and catch up over Italian food and red wine.
But then.
She proceeds to inform me about her latest salon discovery.
"Sugaring".
Basically, here's what I got from her: It's a process where a person (I'm assuming a small Asian lady because they are apparently the only people trained in the art of waxing/threading/hair removal), covers the area to be "waxed" (yes, generally your hooha) with this odd sugary/honey mixture and then RIPS IT OFF!
So, pretty much like waxing, but I guess it smells better?
Anyway. So that's not even the worst part...I mean, we're all old hats at the shaving, threading, bleaching, waxing game when it comes to showing body hair who's boss, right? Heck, we've even bedazzled some of our *ahem* hairier regions. And I'm sorry, but seriously, can they call it something else? "Sugaring" brings to mind either a cooking show with Paula Dean or a bachelor party at a strip club.
The worst part is that when you get "sugared", the person doing the sugaring proceeds to "sugar" in all the creases, cracks and crevices!
I for one was incredulous. "Really?!?! For the love of all that is holy! Why?? Why must this insanity continue??". And she was all "It's no big deal...it's kinda cool. My sister-in-law got it done for her wedding night and I have a couple of other friends who have done it before for special occasions." Then? It clicked.
After realizing exactly what she had just desribed to me, I believe my exact response was something like, "Um, wait. So this lady sugared your taint?? And your butt??".
And yep, that was pretty much it in a nutshell. Let me just say for the record that there is no "occasion" special enough for THAT to happen.
Um, no. Girl dinner is all about good wine, good food and good company.
So it was great. I hadn't seen this particular friend in a while and she travels regularly for work, so it was good to sit down and catch up over Italian food and red wine.
But then.
She proceeds to inform me about her latest salon discovery.
"Sugaring".
Basically, here's what I got from her: It's a process where a person (I'm assuming a small Asian lady because they are apparently the only people trained in the art of waxing/threading/hair removal), covers the area to be "waxed" (yes, generally your hooha) with this odd sugary/honey mixture and then RIPS IT OFF!
So, pretty much like waxing, but I guess it smells better?
Anyway. So that's not even the worst part...I mean, we're all old hats at the shaving, threading, bleaching, waxing game when it comes to showing body hair who's boss, right? Heck, we've even bedazzled some of our *ahem* hairier regions. And I'm sorry, but seriously, can they call it something else? "Sugaring" brings to mind either a cooking show with Paula Dean or a bachelor party at a strip club.
The worst part is that when you get "sugared", the person doing the sugaring proceeds to "sugar" in all the creases, cracks and crevices!
I for one was incredulous. "Really?!?! For the love of all that is holy! Why?? Why must this insanity continue??". And she was all "It's no big deal...it's kinda cool. My sister-in-law got it done for her wedding night and I have a couple of other friends who have done it before for special occasions." Then? It clicked.
After realizing exactly what she had just desribed to me, I believe my exact response was something like, "Um, wait. So this lady sugared your taint?? And your butt??".
And yep, that was pretty much it in a nutshell. Let me just say for the record that there is no "occasion" special enough for THAT to happen.
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