Why you should pay someone else to touch your koo

Because your pubic hair isn't going to go away on its own. In order to maintain a groomed nether region, women resort to various methods of hair removal, none of which are more painful than the Brazilian bikini wax, which was, little known fact, handcrafted by the devil. Alas, this cruel but effective form of hair removal is a necessary evil. When I lived in LA, there was this great little beauty salon called Beba that only charged $35 per bikini wax. Think about it from the waxers point of view: there is no guarantee that every veej is going to be pleasant to look at, and certainly not something everyone is going to want to put their hands all over, but it's their job, and they are brave souls. Sure, the process only lasts 15 minutes, the pain is excruciating, and the fact is that some stranger is touching your koo, but that is a small price to pay for walking out of that room feeling like the sexiest bitch in town.

After moving back to the East Coast, jobless and destitute, I tried the whole au natural thing for a while but felt gross about it. Tried shaving, but didn't like the sharp stubble that kept growing in. I needed a wax, but the salons in the area charge $50 a pop and I can't afford that every three weeks! So instead I found a microwaveable Brazilian bikini wax kit online (GiGi at Amazon.com) and decided to take my chances.

I won't go into the awkward details of where I had to place my legs or the poses in which I had to hold my balance in order to reach some of the places that had hair in need of removal. Let's just say my yoga instructor would be proud. And that my mother would not.

It's not that it's impossible to perform a bikini wax on yourself. It would just be easier with two for a couple of reasons. (1) Two people requires less contortion. You have to put your legs in strange acrobatic positions even when you go to a salon, but it usually isn't any more complicated than lifting one or both legs and propping them up on the waxer's shoulder or the wall. That's for amateurs. When going it alone, you must be very flexible and have very good balance. (2) After the first rip of the wax, as the now-empty follicles from which you have mercilessly torn your pubic hair SCREAM in agony, you remember how much it hurts to gets waxed and each successive pull becomes more and more difficult to accomplish mentally. It's hard to keep going because it's your own body, and there is something wrong about being the hand that causes pain unto yourself. Unless you're into that kind of thing, I guess, which I'm not. So even if the pain is the same with one person or two, it's just better when you don't have to inflict it on yourself.

The home wax kit costs $12 plus shipping, and you get three waxes out of it. So you're talking 20 bucks versus 150 at a salon. I've floated the idea to my two best friends, and they said they'd be willing to help me out with my wax, but as much as I love them, I am not entirely comfortable with having them look full-on at my veej. An accidental glimpse while changing is ok. But an extended experience? That could be a little too close for comfort.

Sometimes you just gotta suck it up. Follow through...

Silent audience

I love this piece, from which I stole the title for this post, by Pete Revonkorpi. It might have a little something to do with the fact that I played the violin for twelve years, from the tender age of six until I turned eighteen and was finally allowed to quite taking private lessons. I loved to perform, but I hated practicing. I loved the attention, but I lacked the discipline necessary to perform well enough to deserve any. The only reason my parents refused to let me quit sooner was because my teachers convinced them that I possessed some degree of natural talent; because I could play fairly well by ear, imitating my teachers came more easily to me than some other students, infusing them with false hope for the next mini-virtuoso. Apparently, they thought I could be great, but I found that talking on the phone with my non-musical adolescent friends was a more desirable use of an hour than one spent alone in front of my sheet music.

Man, am I ever sorry I didn't listen to my parents. Sometimes I'll hear a song I once played and freeze in my tracks, spellbound, to listen. And when a certain mood strikes, I want to play a gypsy tune full of life and longing and drama. Recently, I tried, and all those years of not practicing have taken their toll. My fingers no longer feel like my own because my brain remembers how they are supposed to move and what it's supposed to sound like, but those treacherous, traitorous fingers of mine will no longer comply. Follow through...

Sometimes I get lonely, too

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week
I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
And the touchin' leads to sex
And then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news

I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you
But just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
When the loneliness leads to bad dreams
And the bad dreams lead me to callin' you
And I call you and say "C'MERE!"

And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news

And it's bad news
Baby it's bad news
It's just bad news, bad news, bad news

'Cause you're just damage control for a walking corpse like me... like you

'Cause we'll all be
Portions for foxes
Yeah we'll all be
Portions for foxes

There's a pretty young thing in front of you
And she's real pretty and she's real into you
And then she's sleepin' inside of you
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
Then touchin' leads to sex
And then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
I don't blame you
I do the same thing
I get lonely too

And you're bad news
My friends tell me to leave you
That you're bad news, bad news, bad news

That you're bad news
Baby you're bad news
And you're bad news
Baby you're bad news
And you're bad news
I don't care I like you
And you're bad news
I don't care I like you
I like you

This Rilo Kiley song "Portions for Foxes" is an honest song. I dig that. It's a song about filling our loneliness with meaningless sex, quite simply. The mystery of the human form is unveiled in a desperate attempt to satiate a certain hunger, but when that mystery disappears, there is little left to be desired and we're empty all over again. We fill ourselves, if only for a little while, with these fleeting carnal pleasures despite knowing better. And somehow we find ourselves trapped in loveless non-relationships we keep falling back into... The music video (click on the title of this post) is a clever play on the fox bit and the emptiness bit, featuring taxidermists stuffing animals, making them appear to be alive when all they are are empty shells stuffed with fluff. Follow through...

The things we cannot say

You know why therapists will always be in business? Because we will always need people to listen to us talk about ourselves without interruption and without (apparent) judgment, even if we have to pay them to do it. And no one, no matter how saintly, can put up with listening to a perfect stranger blabber on about the same problem incessantly without compensation.

Sure, ease of access to the Internet and the relative anonymity it provides can give you a soapbox to shout from, but there's no guarantee anyone is listening and even less of a chance that anyone cares. It's funny how so many bloggers take their comments so seriously, as if their own thoughts can only be validated if someone else agrees. I've been there, too, so it's not that I'm trying to sit up on my high horse and laugh at those spineless twits. I have been one of those spineless twits and I'm not entirely convinced that I've left that behind me.

So in the battle of Shrink vs. Blog, the therapist usually wins. Even if they are sitting there silently judging you and counting down the minutes until your session is over, they'll at least pretend that the daily vicissitudes of your life are fascinating and complex, if only by asking you questions that you will have to find the answers to yourself. Plus, if you are being a dumbass, your therapist is more likely to try and help you realize that in a constructive way as opposed to the anonymous commenter who has no responsibility or liability in haphazardly typing how stupid you are and how much you suck. But those unwilling or unable to part with hundreds of dollars an hour to talk to a professional, well, at least there's this.

Shrink or blog, however, can both serve the same purpose. They both allow us to vent, think through, and work out complicated ideas, thoughts, or issues... the things we cannot say, for one reason or a million. Follow through...

Toto, I've Got a Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore

The Wizard of Oz, with all its questions of direction and purpose, is a very fitting theme for this point in my life. Thus begins my second attempt at themed e-mailing. It's long, but if you are wondering where I am/ will be, skip to the bottom.

Wicked Witch of the West: I'm melting! I'm melting!
It is flippin' hot outside. Thanks to its peninsula status, Korea enjoys hot and humid summers that force me to take multiple showers a day. I am increasingly confined to my cool, air-conditioned quarters, and let me tell ya... sitting in a 12x12 room for x number of hours per day gets old reeeally fast. What I wouldn't give to be in sunny, breezy Los Angeles where the dry heat is offset by Pacific winds and the palm trees sway in rhythm with the rolling tides... you get the picture. Seoul is a jungle of concrete and sweat. My trip to Japan to see JYeh and Schwartzy was a welcome break from the routine, and Tokyo's post-typhoon weather was gray, but mercifully cool.

Wizard of Oz: Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the Earth or slinks through slimy seas has a brain. Back where I come from, we have universities, seats of great learning, where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts and with no more brains than you have. But they have one thing you haven't got: a diploma.
I graduate from my MBA program on August 25th. I will then have yet another diploma that suggests I learned something of value at a seat of great learning. It's almost been an entire year in Seoul for me, but the deepest thoughts I've had have usually involved where I would travel next.

Dorothy: Now which way do we go? Scarecrow: Pardon me, this way is a very nice way. Dorothy: Who said that? [Toto barks at scarecrow] Dorothy: Don't be silly, Toto. Scarecrows don't talk. Scarecrow: [points other way] It's pleasant down that way, too. Dorothy: That's funny. Wasn't he pointing the other way? Scarecrow: [points both ways] Of course, some people do go both ways.
No, no. I am not using this to nonchalantly segue into a story about how I've decided I'm bisexual or anything. Sorry to disappoint if you have, like me, your mind in the gutter 79% of the time. This snippet falls in my 21%.

I'm pretty confused about which of the many paths to take at this fork in the yellow brick road. The world may be my oyster but does this oyster really have to be so damn big? How will I ever find my pearl? I'm considering the following options at the moment:

1. Work
   Cowardly Lion : All right, I'll go in there for Dorothy. Wicked Witch or no Wicked Witch, guards or no guards, I'll tear them apart. I may not come out alive, but I'm going in there. There's only one thing I want you fellows to do.
   Tin Woodsman, Scarecrow: What's that?
   Cowardly Lion: Talk me out of it.
   
   I do want a job; kind of. The idea of working isn't all that appealing, but the thought of making money again has me longing for the good ol' commodity brokerage days, except I don't want to be a commodity broker anymore. I searched far and wide for jobs abroad, but with my current level of work experience, I can't get a job in Europe because no one thinks I'm worth the hassle of finding an EU work permit. Woe is (part of) me. The other part is doing the cabbage patch.
   
   
2. Travel in SE Asia
   Dorothy : Lions and tigers and bears! Oh, my!
   
   I don't know when I'll be in Asia again, or when I'll have this much free time thanks to my aforementioned unemployed status. I dream of terracotta soldiers and the Plain of Jars, of Ankur Wat and longboats on the lush green banks of the Mekong Delta... And then the thought of traveling alone scares me. I met some awesome people who were traveling through SE Asia alone when I was in Vietnam, and they inspired me. But now that it's time to take the plunge, I'm hesitating, much like I did at the edge of the 53 meter (174 foot) bungee jump off Hantan bridge last weekend. If you want to see a video of my body flailing helplessly at the mercy of gravity, let me know. I'll hook you up with some video footage.
   
   
3. Volunteer in SE Asia
   Cowardly Lion: I- I- I hope my strength holds out.
   Tin Woodsman: [hanging by Lion's tail] I hope your tail holds out!
   
   I want to travel, but it seems a little bit selfish. To make myself feel better, I looked into some opportunities to volunteer in SE Asia. There are orphanages and children who can't afford English tutors located conveniently on the tropical shores of Indonesia and the magical mountains of Northern Thailand. Now if only I can get the volunteer org to help me find a way to finance inter-volunteering vacations...
   
   
4. More school
   Wizard of Oz : Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitartus Committiartum E Pluribus Unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of ThD.
   Scarecrow: ThD?
   Wizard of Oz: That's... Doctor of Thinkology.
   
   I reeeeeally want to move to Europe, but since no one will hire me for the kind of job I want in Europe without fluency in a European language other than English, I will need to become fluent. My best shot at fluency is French, but no one will hire me to work in France if I am not already fluent, so school is my only other option. Since I'll have a masters degree , the next logical step is a PhD, so I'll be applying to some PhD programs at French business schools in fall 2008. After 4 years in France, there's got to be someone willing to hire me there... *fingers crossed*
   
   
5. Go back to the US
   Dorothy : There's no place like home!
   
   I've been fighting the homesickness with fantasies of flight, but it's coming over me like a wave of nausea on a Saturday morning following a big Friday night: there's just no stopping it. I miss LA, I miss my friends in the US, and I miss my mom and brother. My lil bro Dan just got out of the Marines, so he's home now. I haven't seen him since January 2006! One thing I do not miss is northern Virginia, but I feel like a stint back in NoVa might do me some good. Get me grounded again. Not to mention allow me to hang out with all the NoVans, drive my car, and abuse BBQ and basement karaoke privileges Chez Han. I haven't been in the US or any Western country for a full year now. I wonder if I'll suffer from reverse culture shock... and if so, who will cure me?
   

Since I'm feeling nostalgic, homesick, and corny, I'll close with this:

Wizard of Oz: A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.

Ultimately, I want to be at the place where I can be with the ones I love, and the ones who love me back. Ideally, it'll involve tequila, but that's negotiable. Follow through...