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Undercover Bikini Wax
Well, I listened to everybody’s advice and visited a spa for a bikini wax.
Wow. I had no idea.
Yes, the waxing hurt like a $#@! but I figure if I can’t handle a few hairs being plucked out, then I’ll never make it through labor and an episiotomy. What amazed me was the overall spa experience. It was pretty magical. I guess I just had never been to a real spa before. I didn’t realize how special they make you feel.
When I got there I was early and as I was perusing the many products that they have to sell in the lobby, a technician came up to me and touched my arm in that mothering way that some people have. It’s like they just ooze caring and love out of their pores or something. These kind of people make me cry. I once had a yoga instructor who could make me cry just by re-adjusting my body to help me get in a pose correctly. Maybe I’m starved for physical contact. I hate to admit that but maybe it’s the truth. And nobody better say anything about that being Toby’s job because I am officially declaring that subject off limits. No offense to anybody suggesting Toby put lotion on my legs. I got a good laugh out of that one.
After I checked in, another technician took me back to the “quiet room”. The “quiet room” is a smallish room with bronze colored gauzy curtains hung on the walls. The only light sources are some very dim wall lamps and a collection of electronic flickering candles in the faux fireplace. Except the faux fireplace doesn’t look very faux because the light it so low you don’t really notice that it’s just made out of a mantle and some fake tile. In fact the lighting is so low that you forget you are actually in a strip-mall box of a room that they have converted into this magical shrine to relaxation.
There is music playing from everywhere and birds sing quietly. On a counter nearby is a sweating pitcher of ice water with cucumber slices floating in it. Above the mantle is a painting of a woman sitting on a bench with her head bent over her lap and onto the seat beside her. She looks like she’s sleeping. There are flowers in her hand and petals falling to the ground. I must have stared at that painting for ten minutes or more trying to figure out how she could look so relaxed in such an awkward position. Whatever it was, it made me feel relaxed too. I took off my high heeled clogs and let my smelly feet air out on the soft ottoman in front of my chair. I even noticed a box of tissue beside me. What’s that for? Will there be a shrink session too and I’ll really have a good cry? And then I scolded myself for thinking such a silly thing. The tissue is probably for wiping wax off your various body parts or cleaning out your ears or something. I realized that I spend way too much time thinking about things and not relaxing. I mean, who notices that the faux fireplace is not a real fireplace? Sheesh. It must be my super stealth spying skills. Sometimes I just spend way too much time looking at things.
I closed my eyes and took in a few deep breaths.
And then it was time for my bikini wax. A tall woman with stubby blonde pigtails called my name and lead me into another dimly lit room with the same piped in bird music. She gave me some paper panties and told me not to be nervous. Of course her words were in vain and I was sweating like a pig because I was so nervous. All I can think is: this woman is going to wax me in my private parts and it’s going to hurt hurt hurt! I try to think of the quiet room and the birds and the very nice people and how all my other friends do this and they think it’s totally normal. It can’t be that bad, I tell myself.
In the end it didn’t take very long and it wasn’t all that awkward. Just a lot of flinching. The only awkward part was when she asked me if it looked okay and I couldn’t say because I can see zip because my gigantic belly is in the way. I guess she didn’t have a mirror. I told her I was sure it was fine. It was over, that’s all I cared. I got dressed, paid my thirty bucks and went home.
AND THEN I examined the merchandise in the privacy of my own bathroom. Oh my goodness! I look fabulous. I’m totally hooked. I am never going back to my jungle woman ways again. In fact, I’m so hooked on the whole spa experience that I’m already plotting to save up enough baby sitting money for a $90 “mother-to-be” pedicure. Imagine what that might be like… Just don’t tell Toby.
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Good News
Good News Today
First off, my spy cam came back in the mail this week!!! I am jumping for joy to have it back. I missed it so much. I forget what day it came but it was before I left for Santa Monica. Which was perfect, because what’s a secret agent to do on an adventure without her trusty spy cam?
I’ve been meaning to talk about what went wrong with the SD20 because I know I’ve raved about it on this blog and a few people have even gone out and purchased it based on my review. So the following is important for those people.
While the Canon SD20 spy cam is the most excellent small camera ever, there is one small design flaw for people like me who use and abuse their camera on a daily basis (which you should be able to do!). IF you EVER happen to half hazardly have your finger or thumb even lightly over the lens when you turn it on and the lens can not open itself properly, IT WILL BREAK! The lens is so small that it doesn’t take much. I’m not sure what mechanism exactly breaks but what will happen is your lens will not be able to extend itself open all the way ever again and you will get an “E25 error” on your little lcd screen. I hope google finds this post because I hunted all over the internet for information on E25 errors and I found nothing. Of course Canon was very careful to remove any information from their forums on such an error and I was pretty much stuck sending it in and waiting for their recommendation.
Thankfully their recommendation was a full repair at no cost to me because this happened within a year of when I bought it!!! YAY for me! I’m so glad I saved my receipt. My mom, however, was not so lucky. Her SD20 broke a day or so after her year warranty was up. Same E25 error and yet there is nothing on the Canon website about it. Very fishy. She hasn’t sent her camera in yet so we don’t know how much the repair will really cost. (BTW for anybody who’s following the camera saga carefully, this is the first SD20 my mom bought. She bought another one to replace the old broken one before we went to Paris).
So that’s the scoop. I still love this camera and I don’t think there is any other camera out there that is really better than it for the price or the size. BUT if you buy one, be super careful when you are turning it on. I’ve personally adopted a sort of turning-on-ceremony where I make sure I am looking at the lens every time I turn it on. It can be really easy to make the mistake I did because sometimes I turn the camera on when it is in view mode and I’ll have it sitting in my lap or even setting lens side down on my desk or something. That’s all fine if it’s in view mode BUT if you’re in picture mode, it’s el busto of the lenso. You have been warned.
The next item of good news is: I GOT THE JOB! I nailed it. Well technically, I think I had it before I even walked in. I don’t think they are interviewing anybody else. I don’t know what I was so nervous about. It’s good to be on your toes though. It was a good excuse to go through my portfolio and weed out the ancient stuff.
The meeting was totally cool and I think I’ll fit in with my new coworkers just fine. It’s a really small company and all the designers get to work in the same room and share music from their ipod stations. This is super cool since Toby doesn’t think I need an ipod for some stupid reason. The computer I’ll be working on has a big fat crazy flat screen. It’s either a 23 or 30 incher. I’m not sure. It just looked very big. My poor laptop will be sad because I probably won’t love it as much after this job.
And now an item in pregnancy news, though not big enough to warrant the “Pregnancy Watch 2006” logo.
I went to Armstrong Nursery this afternoon to get a pot to plant my new tree in. I snagged my new tree from my neighbor’s dumpster. I don’t usually dumpster dive but it was sitting right beside the dumpster and I hate to see a living breathing thing go to the dump. Especially a nice big tree and it wasn’t even dead looking. So I rescued it. Of course it was root bound and needed replanting immediately. I think half the plants that get thrown away are just because people don’t understand that you can’t leave a plant in the pot it comes in from the nursery forever. Everybody thinks they have a black thumb but really they just don’t understand that plants are usually busting to be repotted the day you buy them. Of course a plant is going to get sad and limp and eventually die if you leave it in a too small pot. They’re kinda like goldfish. But I digress. This paragraph was supposed to be about the latest pregnancy news.
So…I’m shopping for a new pot at Armstrong and I’m disgusted that I can’t find anything for under $20. I finally find one that is made in Mexico and most likely not cured or whatever they do to it so it won’t disintegrate in a few years. I wedge and scrape the heavy pot off it’s shelf and heft it onto my thigh. It’s so heavy I can barely carry it. I know I’m not supposed to be lifting heavy things but I’m stubborn so I try to carry it anyway. Then some snotty teenager employee in a straw hat walks by me. I know he can see that I’m struggling with the heavy pot but he just lowers his head so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with me and struts on by. What a jerk! So I heft it step by step, like some kind of retarded giant, and eventually get to the check out counter. Thankfully, I don’t feel any pains or twinges. I feel more pains and twinges when I wake up in the morning and try to stretch, so I think I’m okay. But I’m still pissed. Why don’t employees offer to help? Maybe it’s because I’m not showing that much. Maybe when I’m sticking out to there, they’ll be falling all over themselves to help the poor pregnant lady. I guess we’ll see.
So that’s that. Today I didn’t get any special treatment for being pregnant. Hmph! I should boycott Armstrongs. Their pots are too expensive too. I could have bought the same “Made in Mexico” pot (that I paid $17.99 for at Armstrongs) in Laguna Beach for $3 but I didn’t feel like braving the tourist traffic. Shame on me. And yes, shame on me for not demanding some help with the heavy pot. Maybe I’ll get smarter from today on.
