Hot Catholic School Girls Tear into Lifesize Zac Efron Pinata
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I figured since this was basically a redirect post anyhow, I'd grab you with the title and amuse myself with the subsequent google searches.
In case you haven't had your fill of FormerlyFun, I am over at Rassles today guest posting, la di da. So while Rassles defiles the whole of New Orleans, you can peer inside my childhood. While you are there, I encourage you to take a look around. She is beyond funny, can write insanely great dialogue and has what I think is the most unique perspective on things ever.
An Ode to Thighs
Monday, March 23, 2009
There was the expensive cream from France
that promised the dimples would vanish
if applied nightly to the problem spots.
Then, when that didn't work, Kiko, the masseuse
at Profile Health Spa, dug her thumbs
deep into my flesh as she explained
in quasi-scientific terms that her rough hands
could break up the toughest globules of cellulite.
I screamed, then bruised over, but nothing
else happened. When they healed, my legs still looked
like tapioca pudding. There was the rolling pin method
I tried as far back as seventh grade,
kneading my lumpy legs as though I was making bread.
Cottage Cheese Knees, Thunder Thighs --
I heard it all -- under the guise of teasing,
under the leaky umbrella mistaken for affection.
I learned to choose long dresses
and dark woolen tights, clam diggers instead of short-shorts,
and, when I could get away with it, skirted bathing suits.
The nutritionist said that maybe Royal Jelly tablets
would break up the fat. I drank eight glasses
of water everyday for a month. I ate nothing
but steak for a week. I had to take everyone's advice,
fearing that if I didn't, my thighs
would truly be all my own fault. Liposuction
cost too much. The foil sweat-it-out
shorts advertised in the back of Redbook
didn't work. Swimming, walking in place, leg lifts.
It's embarrassing, especially being a feminist.
I wondered if Andrea Dworkin had stopped worrying,
and how. If Gloria Steinem does aerobics,
claiming it's just for her own enjoyment.
Then I read in a self-help book:
if you learn to appreciate your thighs, they'll appreciate
you back. Though it wasn't romance at first sight,
I did try to thank my legs for carrying me up nine flights
the day when the elevator at work was out;
for their quick sprint that propelled me
through the closing doors of the subway
so that I wouldn't be late for a movie;
for supporting my nieces who straddled, one
on each thigh, their heads burrowing deep into my lap.
I think, in fact, that it was at that moment
of being an aunt I forgot for an instant
about my thigh dilemma and began, more fully,
as they say, enjoying my life. So when it happened later
that I fell in love, and as a bonus,
the man said he liked my thighs, I shouldn't have been
so thoroughly surprised. At first I was sure I'd misheard --
that he liked my eyes, that he had heard someone else sigh,
or that maybe he was having a craving for french fries.
And it wasn't very easy to nonchalantly say oh, thanks
after I'd made him repeat. I kept asking
if he was sure, then waiting for a punch
line of some mean-spirited thigh-related joke.
I ran my fingers over his calf, brown and firm,
with beautiful muscles waving down the back.
It made no sense the way love makes no sense.
Then it made all the sense in the world.
Silly Pink Frou Frou Bebe
Friday, March 20, 2009
Alternately titled: My Bebe is Pinker than Your Bebe
Circus performer, ballerina, doctor, I don't care as long as she stays away from the pole and she's never the object of affection in a rap video, though she does have smoove mooves.
Postscript: By the way, this outfit was aquired via Grandma, I don't dress her like this everyday.
Ask Formerly Fun: Dude Looks Like a Lady
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I recently stumbled across your blog. Don't ask me how, the web is weird like that. I read your article about your first "Manzillian" and I found it incredibly humorous. Now, let me tell you something about me that I have only told two other people on planet Earth: I am a crossdresser. I came out to my wife about a year & a half ago, and things went rather well, and things have been.... well... progressing ever since.
I remove a lot of body hair and the woman doesn't mind a bit. In fact she seems to like it. Long about November 08, I bought an Epilator. Because I was sick of shaving my legs every .00037 minutes. Apart from the massive crop of in-growns, I rather like the Epilator. It has solved the largest problems with shaving. The two biggest downsides to epilating being TIME (Oh, lord does it take time to do it right) & the PAIN!. Some areas are better than others, but overall, its devastatingly painful. This coming from a man who triathlon trained himself into doctor's orders not to even climb a single flight of stairs. It hurts worse than triathlon training ever did, yes. But I do it. I even do it on the "nether regions" and this is indescribably painful. It takes equal parts determination, motivation & stupidity. But it's worth it. Barely. Because I like smoothness.
Now you being married and knowing a man's body, and doing at least one Manzillian, are familiar with the seam that runs the vertical length of the nutbag? Yes!? This area is EXTREMELY painful and ultimately impossible to use an Epilator on. If anyone could do it, it's me. And I simply cannot. My wife buys the occasional home waxing kit and we attempted to use that. On the vertical seam & the rest of the nutbag, yes. It turns out that it works just fine. If you don't mind losing the skin there for 3 - 5 days. Would you believe that I tried it three times before giving up?Now today I have set up my first "Manzillian", which will take place one week from today. I have modified the basic program ever so slightly. I'm not interested in removing the "main swatch" of pubic hair, just north of the penis. I don't really need to. I just shave it down to 1/8", and it looks & feels fabulous. But everything else covered by the Manzillian must go. So... Is there anything I should know about this particular operation? This analogy might distract you. But imagine your husband, brother, nephew, etc. were about to have one. What would you tell him? How would you prep him? Would you tell him nothing, because there is no preparation to be had?I would truly appreciate any input that you could provide, as you are a professional in this area, and riotously fun to wit... Thanks!
First to the most pressing matter, your upcoming professional wax. The good news is that most estheticians will not do male genital waxing so if you found one who does, chances are she/he knows what they are doing. You've read my Manzilian story and that lays out the basic procedure though it may vary a little from esthetician to esthetician. I'm all about hard wax when it comes to the testicles and if I had them, I wouldn't let an Epilator or soft wax near them. The tissue, much like a female labia is very thin and prone to tearing and lifting. Hopefully your esthetician will use hard wax, if not you may tear but since you've mangled yourself you might as well give a pro a shot since if she does a good job, you can forgo DIY on this one.
The difference between hard wax and soft wax is with soft wax, the area is powdered, warm wax is applied in a thin coat and then muslin or pellon is smoothed over the wax and pulled off, often with skin attached to it, ouch! With hard wax, a thin coat of oil is applied to the skin first, then the warm hard wax is applied, this wax completely hardens and"shrink wraps" the hair but does not adhere to the skin, so when its pulled off the skin stays put, yipee!
As far as prep for your wax goes, cleanliness on your part is always appreciated. Whenever I've been faced with a client with funk, I do a hasty job figuring if you had the balls, no pun intended, to come grungy then a quickie is all you deserve, give me my money thank you see you again never. Take a Vicodin or an OTC pain reliever about and hour before your visit. Lay back and uh, enjoy the rest. If you do tear at all, slather the area where the skin lifted with Neosporin until it heals.
Now to the rest of your letter. First, congratulations! Now if your wife is really as understanding as you say, you owe it to her to go buy her something big and shiny(not a new makeup mirror because you stole hers), I mean something expensive. It can't be easy vying for bathroom time and honestly, if my husband ever got into my NARS Orgasm blush or my custom blended foundation, or my favorite YSL eyeshadow that I've had for almost 7 years because they don't make it anymore or even my MD Skincare $120 moisturizer, I would probably divorce him. I'm not even kidding.
An Epilator A Shark
See the resemblance?
Second, the Epilator? Really? Even the Bush administration refused to use Epilators on the Guantanamo Bay crowd because they felt it fell under "torture". The Epilator is so 1990 and it's no wonder you are getting ingrowns because it can break the hair just under the skin rather than pull the complete hair from the follicle like waxing thus causing it to continue growing under the skin. Get your legs, underarm, etc. waxed a few times by a pro, if you are worried that men don't wax, just tell them you swim a lot and are trying to improve your time. If you can afford to, let a pro continue to do it. If you can't, pay attention to how they do it so that you can replicate it at home. The kickass thing about 2009 is everything is online. Go to your local beauty supply store or go online and purchase the supplies and look here for a good how to. Waxing lasts much longer and it's far quicker. You can even find hard wax for your sac wax here. A little practice and you'll be on your way. Good luck with the short and curlies.
Finals Blew I Barely Knew My Graduation Speech
Monday, March 2, 2009
On any given muggy summer night somewhere around 1993, you could find my friend Stefani and I hanging out at my house killing time. Because we were punk, naughty, buck the system girls, we decided to get stoned. Stefani was lucky enough to have a friend that grew his own stuff and supplied it freely as long as you agreed not to ever sell it to anyone. So I could envelope myself in a hazy cloud of lightness without feeling like I was contributing to the 'war on drugs'.
Of course, hip girls that we were, I bet you're wondering what we did afterward. Perhaps we went to Summerfest, Wisconsin's giant world class music festival or maybe Lollapaloza or Lillith Fair. We went to all of those but most nights were spent doing ridiculously fabulous things like hours worth of jigsaw puzzles, creative writing games, painting(yes, we were arsty punky girls), putting on makeup and taking pictures of each other and the pièce de résistance, making up alternate lyrics to the Diarrhea Song.
Stefani could always be counted on to be silly and we must have spent at least two hours, high as kite stuck in a Redwood, trying to rhyme, laughing until the pain in our faces and bellies eclipsed the hilarity. This was only one of many silly, goofy, teenage girl things we did. One of the things I miss about those days is how silly I was. I haven't felt silly for a long time. Playful yes, thankfully my husband is replete with ribbing and innuendo to keep me laughing and on my toes(and sometimes over his knee).
Still, I long for those carefree days of girlhood where you were only charged with yourself, responsible for no one except maybe a cat or two. Don't get me wrong, life at this end is good too. Still, while I would never go back and do these years over again, I might just like to drop in on a few of the more memorable moments. I saved those silly lyrics we wrote, so now, for your pleasure, the Poopy Song's alternate verses:
When your brother's punched you hard and your pants are filled with lard...
When your stomach's not at ease and your ass is gonna sneeze...
When your tract is on a roll and you gotta let it flow...
When you're visiting a castle and a chamber pots a hassle...
When your stomachs filled with pain, it's so loose you can't restrain...
When your cheeks are really strained it's your cushions you will stain...
When your bowels are feelin' loose and your ass is squeezing juice...
When your stomachs feelin' knotty and you're runnin' for the potty...
When your ass is filled with gas but it's sludge you're gonna pass.
When your diets filled with prunes and your sphincters in the ruins...
When you're filled up to the max and your rectum's feelin' lax...
Good times, good times.
So you guys can just send that Pulitzer to my house.