Sacramento: Where All Your Wildest Dreams Come True

Ok maybe not where all my wildest dreams come true, because if that were the case, I would've been swimming in a kiddie pool full of mayonnaise with Dominic Purcell all weekend, but close enough.

I got to Sac Town late Friday night after flying FIRST class...up in the sky, drinking CHAMpagne, hum huh huh hum, GLAMOROUS GLAMOROUS, something like that. And the madness ensued.

I felt pressure to be awesome and hilarious all weekend, because most of G's friends are readers of my blog but have never met me; so I felt like I had a serious reputation to live up to. I was worried that they'd all be disappointed when they finally met me in the flesh because I'm not nearly as interesting in real life as I am on the dot com machine. It's kind of like how I feel when I go home and meet all the dental student housewives.

I think I have two choices when it comes to these situations. A) Preface my introduction by saying, "I apologize in advance for not being as clever, witty, and hilarious as I am on my blog;" or B) Show up everywhere wearing big floppy shoes and a red nose because what's not hilarious about that?

Back to the weekend. G's friends and younger sister Heidi were a blast to hang out with: Seriously, how cute is she! I really loved Heidi because she had no qualms whatsoever about letting me be her puppet master. In fact, she jumped at the opportunity; hence the reason I have this picture of her doing...I don't remember what I told her to do, but it was funny.This is a picture of when I told Heidi to see how many
mini-muffins she could fit in her mouth at once. G didn't seem to be stressed at all, although it's possible that she was really stressed out and I just didn't notice because I was too busy shoving chocolate-chocolate-chip muffins into my mouth. She descended the stairs looking like something out of a freaking Broadway musical.
I will never have the grace and charm to pull off an entrance like that.
And here we have the happy couple.

While the family pictures were being taken, Erin and I took our own pictures. Here we have our feet, which are wearing the same shoes. In the left background, you can see the E.T. toe on my other foot. Look at how that sucker almost hangs off the end of my shoe. Hot, I know.

I call this one Cascade of Brunette Hair.

I call this one All Up Ons My Grill.

Me with my new friends and two old friends.

G's wedding reception was fun and beautiful, G was glowing and beautiful, and I apologize G, because I accidentally poked a hole in your wedding cake with my finger. Hey, that's what you get when you ask me to help arrange fresh flowers and ribbons on the cake, ok? Not my fault. But I'm still sorry. Although I think I did a good job of covering up the hole with a flower, so you probably didn't even notice.

After:

Before, when I was trying to press flowers into the fondant and
instead pushed my finger through the cake:

Me and my new friends. You should be able to spot me fairly easily, given the light colored background and whatnot. I also have to apologize to the girl on the far right because I never once got her name right the whole weekend. Her name is Jylare (pronounced Jill-air) and I kept calling her Bel-Aire or Gel Ann, like she was some kind of shoe insert. I am sorry.

It was a whirlwind weekend, and I wish I could've spent more time there. I had an absolute blast and sent G off to become a changed woman. But nothing tops the moment when G's parents were leaving and we were standing on the front steps waving goodbye to them, and as they drove away, G's mom leaned out the window and yelled, "Bye, douche bags!"

There's no way I can top that.

Super Ultra Fantastic Wish Time

You know what's super awesome? When you spend three hours on Wednesday afternoon helping to lay out a house, and although your skin is already nicely olive-toned, it is exposed to direct sunlight for the first time in almost five months, and you're wearing a zip-up sweatshirt over your tank top, and your hair is in a ponytail and you're wearing sunglasses, and when you get home, you look in the mirror and see the fruits of your labors in the sun:

You know what's even more awesome? The fact that my face and chest really do look like that today (and of course the bosom is drawn with perfect accuracy) and I leave tonight for Sacramento for G's wedding, so I'm going to be forever frozen in time in her wedding pictures as that girl with the horrible tan lines.

I Don't Care; I'm Still Going to Spend My Entire Summer By the Pool

So yesterday, I was standing in line at a gas station, trying my best not to be annoyed by three little Hispanic children that were running rampant around the store. They were chirping to each other in Spanish and grabbing fistfuls of candy off the shelves. The smallest one ran just behind me with the other two following closely, and he slipped and fell next to the "Caution: Wet Floor" sign and smacked his face on the floor. His fistfuls of candy went flying, but he wasn't crying or anything; he just looked stunned.

Being the jerk that I am, I had to cover my mouth to stifle the laughter. I'm sorry, but seeing someone slip and fall, especially with fistfuls of candy, is hilarious to me. Plus he wasn't bleeding or anything. Plus he'd been running wild around the store like a banchee.

This was all very funny to me until the woman in front of me in line turned to me and sneered, "You should really learn to control your children in public."

Blink. Blink.

I stared back at the woman as different things about her statement began to occur to me, and I started to work it out like a geometry proof in my head.

If this snooty woman with tragically limp hair assumes that the wild, unsupervised Hispanic children were spawned of my womb, then the following assumptions are also implied about me:

1. I am Hispanic;

2. I am old enough to have birthed not one, not two, but THREE children; the oldest of which was probably eight;

3. I am the kind of mother who would allow her children to run screaming through a store and then not help my youngest when he slipped on the floor and smacked his face, but instead would stand by laughing as he gathered up his strewn candy;

4. I am Hispanic.

These assumptions led me to the following conclusions:

1. I spend far too much time in the sun;

2. I need Botox;

3. I should stop laughing at small children when they fall, no matter how funny I think it is when their Skittles go flying in all directions.

Now, all of these things processed through my mind at an incredible rate of speed, so luckily I wasn't staring at the snooty woman for very long before I responded.

I shifted my weight to my left hip, crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my head to the side, and stared that snooty woman right in the eye before letting out an irritated sigh and pointedly saying, "Those are not my children. I don't even speak Spanish!"

I paid for my Diet Pepsi, feeling confident that I'd made my point.

Then I got in my car and cried.

My How the Tables Have Turned

You know what makes your bad, pissy mood completely turn around in a matter of seconds?

Turning on the car radio and hearing "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, singing along to "Come on come on! Feel it feel it!", and remembering how you and your sister got into a fight when you were younger about the lyrics to the song; you swore up and down that the words were "It's such a good vibration! It's such a sweet sensation!", and she swore up and down that the words were "It's such a good vibration! It's such a sweet lipstick shine!" and you were right.

T.T.P.M.O.T.: Things That Piss Me Off Thursday

A pessimistic revision of Tarable's T.I.L.T., which I plan on doing on a Thursday when I'm not pissy.

Things That Piss Me Off Thursday:

- Rainy, cold, gloomy days like today.

- This guy I work with who, every time he walks past my desk, locks my three-hole puncher so that the next time I go to use it, I have to spend ten minutes wrestling with the stupid lock. That pisses me off.

- Having my boss ask me, first thing in the gloomy morning, "Who are you dating now?"

- When you shoot nasal spray up your nose and it runs down the back of your throat and you choke on it.

- The nasty taste of nasal spray.

- When one of your ears won't pop and you spend ridiculous amounts of time yawning and pinching your nostrils and blowing out in an effort to make that bitch pop.

- Trying to hock a loogie in the parking lot and instead you hock too vigorously and the loogie dribbles out onto your chin and shirt and the two guys nearby start laughing at you.

- When you reach into your coat pocket after you accidentally hock a loogie onto yourself, and instead of finding a tissue, you find a fake plastic spider which causes you to let out a low, manly wail; which causes the two guys nearby to laugh even harder.

- The realization that your birthday is in three weeks and it's the first birthday in your life that you actually feel old.

When Even the Most Awesome Intentions Don't Make Up For Just Plain Stupid

Warning: This is a spoiler alert for Bone Senior.

I made a t-shirt for my nephew this weekend. I painstakingly cut out and lined up the letters, and I had to make my own N out of half an M and part of an L because I'd used all the other N's. I was completely thrilled with the Frankenstein N and thought it worked pretty well.

Unfortunately, my reverse spatial reasoning is a bit off.Maybe no one will notice...

101 Ways to Put Your Foot in Your Mouth While Trying to Prove to a Subcontractor That You're Professional and You Know What You're Doing

Bone Junior: Hey, subcontractor, sorry to keep calling and bugging you about this, but I just wanted to touch base about getting your bid in. You know how Mitch is; he just really wants me to stay on top of you guys.

Chirp chirp.

Subcontractor: Awkward pause. Nervous laugh. Um, sure, I know how Mitch is.

Same conversation, moments later. Here's what I was meaning to say, and if I could turn back time, I'd give it all to you. No, wait, that's Cher. But if I could turn back time, this is what I would've said...

Bone Junior: Yeah, so, again, sorry to keep bugging you about it but it'd be great if you could give Mitch a call; that way we could get this ball rolling.

...as opposed to what I actually said...

Bone Junior: Yeah, so, again, sorry to keep bugging you about it but it'd be great if you could give Mall a call; that way we could get this bitch rolling.

Sigh.

Fat the Magic Dragon, or I Might Be Sleeping With a Posessed Stuffed Animal

This is Fat Dragon; or as I affectionately call him, Fatty. He is one of my favorite purchases from the past year, and I think you can see why:How cute is he? He's really soft and his nostrils aren't just little stitches on his nose - those suckers are at least a finger length deep. I know because I've stuck my fingers in his nostrils.

I love Fatty because he's purple, chubby, and flawed. His horns are bent and his teeth are wonky, but he is the perfect cuddle buddy, and I sleep with him every night. Until recently.

This is Fatty's usual sleeping place: Sometimes I use him as a pillow:

Sometimes I use his butt as a pillow:

Aside from the fact that I look totally and completely peaceful and natural when I "sleep", my point is that Fatty always sleeps in the bed. Always. And we have a routine in the morning. I awake to the sounds of "Milkshake", hit the snooze button, roll over and wrap my arms around Fatty, burying my face in his soft chubby goodness, and go back to sleep.

However, last week, Fatty somehow bucked the system. I woke up as usual, hit the snooze, rolled over, but there was no Fatty. I flailed my arm around until it became apparent that he wasn't anywhere in the bed. I peered over both sides of the bed to see if I'd kicked him onto the floor during the night, but Fatty was nowhere to be found.

Until I looked across the room and saw this:I sat up in bed and just stared at him as I tried to process the situation through my foggy early morning haze. And he just stared right back, mocking me.
As you can see, the chair is far enough from my bed that there's no way I could've knocked him off the bed into the chair during the night. Somehow, someway, Fatty had made his way from my bed to the chair, and I have no idea how. Bone Senior and I did, however, come up with a theory. Prepare to be wowed by our combined intelligence.

Fatty is the only stuffed animal that I own. Actually, that's not true - I have an "Ask Me Eeyore" in a box in the garage. He's like a talking Magic 8 Ball, except he's equal parts Debbie Downer and fortune teller. He was banned to the garage after I repeatedly asked him "Will my boobs ever get bigger?" and his response was always "Outcome does not look good." Forget you, Eeyore. You are dead to me now.

Anyway, Fatty doesn't have anyone except me to keep him company. Bone Senior and I believe that Fatty waits until he sees visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, and then he sneaks out of bed and explores the house. He probably tries on my shoes and uses my cold cream. Maybe he spritzes his wrist with my perfume and admires himself in my mirror. Only Fatty truly knows what happens in the wee hours of the night.

On the morning of "the encounter", I assume he didn't have time to make it back into bed before I woke up, and he froze in place on my chair. Hence the creepy staring contest that ensued. And hence the reason I haven't slept with him since.

Disirregardless of Fatty's nightime shenanigans and tom foolery, I truly hope he's enjoying himself whilst I slumber. And I hope he appreciates my shoes as much as I do.

You May Have Caught Me On a Bad Day

Caller: Hello, Bone Junior? This is such and such from I'm Going to Make You Feel Bad About Yourself travel agency. We're offering a promotion of two round trip airline tickets and three free nights in a resort. All you have to do is come listen to a presentation about our resorts and the trip is yours. Are you at least twenty-five years old?

Bone Junior: Yes. Almost twenty-six.

Caller: (Sounding wonderfully delighted). Wonderful! And do you make at least x amount of dollars per year?

Bone Junior: Yes.

Caller: (Sounding even more wonderfully delighted). Wonderful! And are you part of a couple?

Bone Junior: A couple?

Caller: Yes; are you married, engaged, or living with a significant other?

Bone Junior: Blink blink. Takes deep breath. Firmly sets jaw, squares shoulders, adjusts boobs, and clenches fist. No; no I'm not. I'm very happily single, and you know what? Utah is the only place in the world where I'm viewed as being a spinster because I'm single at the age of twenty five almost twenty six. Do you know how many of my friends outside of Utah are my age and single? ALL OF THEM. AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT!

Caller: Thank you for your time, but I'm sorry; you don't qualify for our promotion.

Bone Junior: Your FACE doesn't qualify for your promotion!

Caller: I'm sorry?

Bone Junior: Click.

ABC's of Bone Junior

A - Attached or Single: Blissfully and happily single. Take that, G, and all the rest of you smug marrieds.

B - Best Friend: Lady.

C - Cake or Pie: Tasty Klair Pie.

D - Day of Choice: Saturday, because I still have all day Sunday before I have to go back to work.

E - Essential Item: Fat Dragon, because I can't sleep without him and he's magical. That's what my next post is going to be about. Also Joaquin el Divo the Tivo is pretty essential to me.

F - Favorite Color: Purple and Elvis, hence the decorating scheme of my bedroom.

G - Gummi Bears or Worms: Worms.

H - Hometown: Coatesville Pennsylvania. Can I get a what what?

I - Indulgence(s): Tasty Klair Pies, Nutter Butter wafers, Prison Break, and Elvis.

J - January or July: July is too hot, January is too cold; but January has Elvis' birthday, and July has me gloriously tan and sunbathing for hours at a time, so....July. I'm going to look like a handbag by the time I'm thirty.

K - Kids: My nephew is kids enough for me.

L - Life is Incomplete Without: My sister.

M - Marriage Date: Blink blink.

N - Number of Siblings: Two. I am the poster child for Middle Child Syndrome.

O - Oranges or Apples: Oranges

P- Phobias or Fears: spiders, heights, spiders, short & curlies, and spiders.

Q - Quote(s): Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. Booyah!

R - Reason to Smile: I have a loyal fan base of dental student housewives in Philadelphia. Holla!

S - Season: Fall on the east coast because fall doesn't really exist in Utah.

T - Tag Seven: Bone Senior, Yanaj, Tinlizzie, Jen, Hey Mikki You So Fine, Nickel Hole, and Jammie.

U - Unknown Fact About Me: I can't whistle. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: Show me the meat. That's what she said.

W - Worst Habit: I bit my nails until I got acrylics. Now I have fancy nail.

X - X-Rays or Ultrasounds: I had an ultrasound on my boob once. I took my shirt off and asked the tech if she needed a roadmap to find my boobs. Sigh. IBTC forever!

Y - Your Favorite Food: Tasty Klair Pies and seafood. But not together because that'd be gross.

Z - Zodiac: Aries. Translation: I am bossy, stubborn, outspoken, and always right. And hot.

How to Host the Perfect Third Annual Oscar Flop

I only call it the Third Annual Oscar Flop because it was my worst year EVER as far as the picks go. I was so pissed off that I did so poorly that I had to go for a drive afterwards to cool off. 14 out of 24 is disgusting to me. (Damn you, best actress category! I shake my fist at you!) 58% correct. I felt like burying my head in the sand from shame.

Aside from sucking the big fat one, the party was great. Please to enjoy a twelve-step photo instruction guide entitled "How To Make an Oscar Cake That is the Bomb Dot Com."

Step 1: Bake a red velvet cake and a funfetti cake.Step 2: Remember how frustrating it was last year to outline the Oscar shape in the cake using toothpicks, so draw and cut out a pattern instead.

Step 3: Use Golden Yellow food coloring to dye fluffy white frosting nearly the perfect shade of, ahem, kind of sort of gold. More yellow really.

Step 4: Lay the cakes end to end and tape Oscar, against his will, to the cakes.

He will protest; but be firm and take charge, and tell him to shut up and make you a sandwich.

Step 5: Brandish your knives with trepidation when you remember how frustrating it was last year to cut the cake in the right shape.

Step 6: Get fed up with Oscar's attitude and make the first slice.

Step Seven: Use excess cake to fill in Oscar's sinking midsection.

Step 8: Painstakingly frost Oscar, tiny dot by tiny dot.

Get tired of doing tiny dots and smear chocolate frosting on the base.

Step 9: Voila! Oscar is right at home with the ballots, shrimp dip, chips and salsa.

Step 10: Fill your fancy dollar-store goblets with Martinelli's in preparation for the annual pre-Oscar party kick-off toast.

Step 11: Set up the camera and take the annual pre-Oscar party kick-off toast picture.
Suggest that you and your friends line up in order of paleness. Prepare to get chased out with torches and pitchforks by your pale, pale friends after making that suggestion.
Rejoice and delight in the fact that you are not pale.

Step 12: After the party, when Oscar has been mutilated, yell at Yanaj's friend for rifling through the prize bags in an attempt to get the best prize. Then graciously accept your prize (a Superman egg-dyeing kit) for guessing the most correct.

And there you have it!

Third Annual Oscar Partay!

Leave your picket signs at home, the strike is over, and the Oscars are on!

When: Sunday February 24 starting at 6:00 pm

Location: Our house, in the middle of the street
1406 Alpine Way, Provo, UT 84606 US

Come and pit your movie knowledge against the best of them (seriously, I have been unchallenged for way too long) and fill out your predictions as the 2008 Oscars. Show us what the intellectual theater-types were watching while we were being disappointed by Spiderman 3. Oh emo-Spidey, with great emo-power comes great emo-responsibility.

Prizes will be given for whoever predicts the most right (and the fewest) and whoever has seen the most nominated films (and the fewest) and anyone who comes sporting a Daniel Day-Lewis mustache or a Javier Bardem haircut gets automatic bonus points. Just don't expect me to sit next to you if you have that haircut, because it creeps me out.

If the prizes aren't enough to convince you, then come for the unveiling of the third, yes THIRD, official Oscar cake.

Also, for those of you who are unable to carpool from 1,000+ miles away (ahem, the Other Sisters), you can still participate in the ballot contest by emailing me your predictions. As of today, NO ONE has emailed me any predictions.

Now, you may be saying "Why even try? Bone Junior is the movie master and there's no way I can ever compete against her." I understand. I do see a lot of movies, and it's hard to go into battle if you already know you're defeated. But if it makes you feel any better, even I don't feel very confident in my picks this year, and last year I only won by a few points.

The point is, you can't win if you don't even try. Or like my grandma used to say, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

Actually that saying doesn't even make sense there; I just like it.

The real point is that you should come to the Oscar party because there will be good food, fun people, and a cake that has the potential to turn out looking like a penis if I mess it up.

Viva Las Vegas

My seasonal affective disorder has been acting up due to the eighty-seven feet of snow we have here in Utah, so I jumped at the chance to road trip down to Vegas last weekend with Erin & Ryan. There's something wonderful about sunbathing in February.

I knew it was going to be a fun weekend when Ryan demonstrated his recording studio sing-along skillz in the first hour of the drive.
In case you can't tell, he's holding his earpiece and the mic as he rocks out.Also he holds the mic for Erin. What a sweet guy.Then I rock out in the back seat. Hot, I know.On Saturday, we drove to Primm - home of the famous Plastic Penis of Primm, right Andi?? Ew gross. I rode the roller coaster and peed a little, then spent way too much money shopping at the outlets there. Erin and I walked too fast for our male counterparts who got easily distracted in the casino, and we rode the shuttle back and forth while we waited for them to catch up. What shocks me about this picture is that I look as pale as Erin. Cory, Ryan & Heather weren't too happy that we jumped the shuttle without them.I also demonstrated the proper lip contortion for drinking through a straw when you don't want to get lip gloss shmang on the straw. Hot, I know.We visited a tasty little haven called The Cupcakery, where I spent more money than I've ever spent in my life on pastries.This is why no one likes me when I take pictures.This was the highlight of our time on the strip, I don't care how much Grandma Joy complained about it. He was an awesome Elvis, even if he was a little sweaty. Ok, a lot sweaty. This is what happens when you ask a girl to take your picture.This is what happens when you try to take the picture yourself:

cockeyed sunglasses and a big green thing in Erin's teeth that you didn't know was there.

And this is what happens when you ask Ryan to take your picture.

This is how Erin reacts to Ryan's crotch shots,
and this is how I yell at Ryan to take the damn picture right.This is Ryan's idea of "taking the picture right."

And this is me crotch-checking Ryan because I'm sick of him taking pictures of our crotches.

But definitely one of the highlights of my weekend was on Sunday when Yanaj called me to share exciting news: one of my secrets had been published on the web. About a year ago, I made a postcard that publicized one of my deep, dark, dorky secrets and I mailed it into Postsecret. Every week I check the site and this week, Yanaj saw that my postcard had finally been posted on the website! And now I'm blowing my secret wide open by blogging about it and fully embracing my dorky side.

Check it out: http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/ - it's the very first postcard. And enjoy the retarded tingles you will feel for me when you picture me practicing my Oscar acceptance speech in front of the mirror.

It's good to be me sometimes.

My New Favorite Thing

I know you've all been dying to hear how Step Up 2 the Streets was. Well I'll tell you: if it's any indication of how awesome it was, every single show at the theater was sold out by Thursday afternoon. Lucky I bought my ticket on Monday.

And now I love this guy and his freak nasty dance moves: It might be because he reminds me slightly of my highschool boyfriend:

Maybe its just the hair. Or the large forearms.

My Favorite VD

VD meaning Valentine's Day, of course, and tomorrow is shaping up to be one of my favorite's ever. Why? Because I've got a big date planned with pretty much every other single gal I know, and I've already bought my ticket for Step Up 2 the Streets.

Also, I'm buying myself roses. In years past, my company has bought roses for every employee but they decided to do away with that this year. Hmph. But we can still order the roses, pay for them, and pick them up from work. So I'm buying one dozen purple roses for myself. That's right, I don't even care. I want flowers and I don't need to have a boyfriend to get them. So there.

By the way, if you'd like to send me flowers at work, my favorite color is purple and the address is 727 N. 1550 E. Suite 400, Orem UT 84097. I'm just throwing it out there.

Looks Like Somebody's Got a Case of the Monday's

Today I got my hair caught in the paper shredder at work.



Yeah, it was just one of those days.

My Friend is the Best

Coming back to work after three consecutive days in bed is never easy, but my BFF Lady made it that much easier for me. A package was delivered to me at work this morning that almost totally made up for the past 72 hours I spent watching "Rock of Love 2".

I knew it was going to be a good package when I saw Elvis on the shipping label.

Check it out - McBicep in a handy, disposable package. I think I'll grow him in the toilet bowl.

One of the major loves of my life - the Mustang.

ALL of the major loves of my life - clockwise from top left, Elvis, Rocky, the Eagles, Batman, and Rambo - handmade in a bracelet by Lady! It nearly brought tears to my eyes.

I couldn't ask for a friend who knows me more truly and loves me more dearly.

Sometimes Not Even Rocky Has the Answer

Did you ever have one of those days where you're sick and coughing constantly and everything is going wrong so you take Nyquil and climb into bed at 7:00 pm and there's a bag next to your bed full of dirty tissues and spit and the humidifier is running constantly but you still can't stop coughing so you call off work two days in a row and you try to distract yourself by watching Rocky but your brain just won't stop talking to you and telling you how you should be different in every possible way?



Or is it just me?

Although, I WAS able to sleep with YOU...

The title of my post is to prove the point that anything taken out of context can be completely, and hilariously, misconstrued. Case in point: I was chatting online with G this morning and the subject came up about how she has trouble sleeping when she shares a bed with someone. Hence the title of this post.

In other news, I got me some sexy new darker hair this weekend. This is what my hair is supposed to look like every day. Unfortunately, this is what my hair looks like only when Lez does it for me:But more importantly and aside from darker hair, I've been doing a few things lately to improve my feminine virtues. This is your warning: if you're uncomfortable with TMI (which, if you are, I have no idea why you're reading my blog in the first place - nothing is sacred here), then this is a good time to click away.

It all started around my 25th birthday, when I decided that I wanted to try something that I've never tried before: the Brazilian wax.

Let me back up by saying that for me, short & curlies - especially out of their natural habitat - are the most disgusting thing in the world. I once had a boyfriend pull out a clump of his own, place them in front of the passenger side heating vent before I got in the car, and then turn the air on full blast when I sat down. I was covered in them, and he had to pull over because I was dry heaving and gagging so badly. It's a wonder our relationship didn't last.

That being said, you'll understand my interest in going Brazilian. Lez recommended I go see Natasha (how's that for a stereotype), the waxer at her salon. I scheduled the appointment and then proceeded to suffer through the most uncomfortable and itchy ten days leading up to the appointment.

When the moment arrived, I laid down, closed my eyes, and sucked in my breath with each anticipated strip being torn from my body. I knew it was going to be painful, but honestly it was manageable. When it was all over, I sat up and breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived! I had conquered! I was relishing the moment when Natasha said the words that I will never forget:

Natasha: Ok, now turn over onto your belly so we can do your bum crack.

Blink. Blink.

Bone Junior: My whoody whaty?

Natasha: Your bum crack.

Blink. Blink.

Bone Junior: laughing nervously. Oh, um, well, I didn't know that was part of it...so, um, ok. I apologize in advance for what you're about to see.

So there I was, laying on my stomach with my face buried in the towel so she couldn't see me burning humiliation, and trying not to imagine what the view was like from her standpoint.

I didn't think it could get any worse until she instructed me to reach back with my hands and spread my butt cheeks apart, so as not to seal them together with the hot wax that she was spreading there.

I'm serious.

I tipped her very well because I felt so bad about the view she must've had. I didn't go back for another wax until after the new year, and since then, I'm hooked. It gets easier every time, although I never quite get over the embarrassment of rolling over and giving Natasha the old brown eye.

And I continue to tip her well.