Confused Woman!

Another first…in addition to being a waxing virgin, I am a spray tanning virgin.  Tomorrow night will be my first attempt at a “fake bake”.  I’ve thought about trying it before, but it took a convincing friend and promises of flowing martinis to get me to take the plunge.

All I picture is that tanning lady who looks like my worn-out riding boots.  I don’t want to look like 50 shades of turd brown.  I want that sun-kissed, glowing tan that only magazine and television ads can supply.  My fear is I’ll look like a giant mutant orange.

I’ve tried those self-tanning lotions but never had any success.  I would end up with streaks down my body and look like a human zebra with burnt orange hooves.  Not attractive.

So, I’ll slam a martini and go for it.  Hopefully, all will be fine and I’ll look fabulicious and not freakalicious.

Now that summer is finally here, it’s swimsuit season, or in my case hide in the closet season.  Unfortunately, my friends will not let me be a hermit, so I have to hit the beach.  They have pushed me to wax the va jay jay…and due to my stupidity and alcohol consumption, I agreed.

I made the appointment and asked if the waxing hurt.  The receptionist claimed, “It just hurts like a little band-aid.  The pain will be over before you know it and you’ll look fabulous.”

Yep.  What a total liar and great salesperson she was.  Lying on the table as the wax was applied I thought, “Well, this isn’t so bad.  It’s warm and gooey…feels kind of like a honey bath.”  Then the first rip came.

Holy shit.  I screamed like those girls from the horror movies.  Not just any scream, but the full blood-curdling scream.  Then the next rip came.  I screamed so loud, I’m sure the Subway employees next door thought I was giving birth.

The next several rips produced enough decibels I thought for sure the storefront windows would shatter.  Throughout this process, I’m thinking, “First of all, why the hell would anyone willfully do this to themselves.  Secondly, when I see my friend, I’m punching her dead in the face.”

After a couple of days and several ibuprofen and Miller Lites, I felt much better and the va jay jay did look amazing.  Would I do it again?  Yes.  Will I bring a brick to bite down on and a bottle of Valium to put me in “pain-free fairy land”?  Absolutely.

Skeletons.  We all have them.  Some more than others.  Many worse than others.  The thing is, do you really want to talk about them?  Worse, do you want to talk to a total stranger about them?

That’s the situation I found myself in today.  I’m in the process of working on my financial situation and part of that is getting life insurance.  Of course, the insurance company wants to know every single aspect of every single second of my life.

Question is, do I want to give up that information?  Not that I’ve been some horrible degenerate, in and out of prison, and a giant drug addict.  Hardly.  However, there are things I don’t really want to discuss with a medical professional, let alone my financial adviser.

So, the dilemma is, do I cough up the skeletons or do I chicken out and risk possible future security for my daughter?  Granted, the adviser is a professional, but I’m still embarrassed and fear being judged.  I know what the right answer is, but can I “woman up” and do the right thing?

This week, our company launched a weight-loss challenge, similar to the show “Biggest Loser”.  We create a team of four and together compete to lose the most weight in eight weeks.  If our team wins, we each get $100 debit card.  The person who loses the most weight gets $500.  Sounds good to me!

The hard part is you actually have to lose weight.  This is difficult, because since my daughter was born almost six years ago, I haven’t been able to lose the baby weight.  Obviously, it’s been a struggle to shed the pounds and I am now desperate.  The sweet smell of money is making me delirious.  Hence, the cotton ball.

I was watching a show on some cable network and they were interviewing a former model.  She was telling the reporter that some models, fearing they would gain weight, would soak cotton balls in water and eat them to fill their stomachs.

At the time, I thought these women are crazy.  Now, after starving for two days on the all vegetable and fruit diet, I’m thinking this may not be such a bad idea.  I wonder… how many cotton balls can you have in a day?  How many calories per ball?

Then I started to think there may be an issue with this new diet.  Can your body actually digest the cotton?  I’m picturing a giant wad getting lodged in my large intestine and I blow up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float.

So for the moment, I’ve decided to keep the cotton balls in the closet and stick to real food.  I may not like the taste of celery and carrot sticks, but it sure beats being buried in a coffin the size of Cleveland.