I don't like the word. But I like the word. It can be offensive, but there are times where it can be absolutely appropriate. Like when I am going to drop it today. Let me start from the beginning. For those of you that know me well, but don't want to know too much, you may want to skip todays blog, I get a tad personal. I'm going to tell you the story about the first time I got my cho-cha waxed. What? Not a good word? Fine ... My vagina. About two weeks ago, I decided that I was going to get waxed .... a brazilian wax I figured. Yes, I was going to let a masochist with poor career choices smear hot wax on my pink woman bits and rip out all my hair. Down to business. The first thing on the agenda was simply to wait. Easy enough. Finally, I was getting a break. For those of you that are interested, I have been shaving for a few years, pretty much bald. Pretty much. And it's exhausting keeping up with T-Bone's schedule, I don't like the stubble or the five o'clock shadow, I don't like the itch that comes on roughly the fourth day, and I don't like the in-grown hairs that come with shaving before the itchy fourth day. So I had two options to choose between when I decided I didn't want to shave anymore. One was to go au natural. Which I am absolutely convinced T-Bone liked more than he'll ever admit because on about the 12th day of hair growth he was so into what was going on, he scored twice ... in 10 minutes! T-Bone liked tha bush. And the second option was to have every last hair ripped out of it's ever-lovin follicles. Because I have low self-esteem or some shit and feel I deserve to be beaten, raped, and pilaged, I went for option number two. The big day was Thursday, April 22. And yes, I am just writing about it now because I have recovered. Physically and mentally from the procedure. I am well enough to talk about it now without the memories sending me into a psychotic rant, rolled up in a ball under my desk holding my pink lady bits screaming to just leave the lil hairs alone ... I am all better. I swear. I decided to steer clear of salons in my end of the city, the Upper Hood and opted to stay close to down town. In a trendy upscale neighbourhood where surely all the services offered were to be top notch, for the creme de la creme of Calgary. I chose the Magic Room in Kensington. I made my way through rush hour traffic, my heart beat getting faster and heavier as the minutes to my appointment ticked on. And finally, I was being led up the stairs to a quiet room ... with a curtain. This really should have been clue number one that I was not in for an enjoyable experience. Picture Steve Carell in 40 Year Old Virgin screaming out AHHHH KELLY CLARKSON! I didn't think anyone needed to be in earshot of what I may spurt out, but at least a door, if not a sound proof chamber. Jeeze. Clue number two was being told to take off my pants without being offered a blanket. Great ... so that when I am laying on the bed with my snatch in the air and you open the curtain, the whole world can see? Ok ... I see where this is going .... So I explain to the lady (see, I'm trying to be nice here) that it's my first time and I'm not exactly sure what I want done. Definitely not a bikini wax because I need all the .. um, down-down there hair gone. But I hadn't decided between what they call a 'brazilian' and the 'playboy' wax. Which leads me to clue number three that this was just a bad idea all around. See, she didn't ask me to take off my panties (maybe why I wasn't offered a blanket?). Ummm ok, well I may not have done this before, but I know that all the hair I want removed is under those panties. And no amount of moving them over from side to side was going to capture all the hair I needed off. But the lady went ahead and did the bikini wax that I said I didn't want. When she asked me to look and see what she had done, I was confused. Still hairy bush? Just not on the sides at my leg creases? Wtf!? A wee bit retarded should we say? I explained to her again what I wanted my beave to look like ... and off come the panties. There we go .... Round two. I had decided to go with the brazilian, which contrary to what you read or hear, is actually completely bald from top to bottom WITH the landing strip. Full-brazilian, playboy, or exotic, is completely bald. When the evil whore is done round two, she asks me to look and see what I think ... (the C bomb's coming people) ..... Well, I'm left with a bald beaver and a landing strip alright .... that is way off the fucking runway.