A Hairy Proposition

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Today, boys and girls, our topic is: Grooming. Yes, the capital letter is audible: Grooming.

Now, I realize that some of you groom (i.e., shower, brush teeth and hair, wear deodorant), but do not Groom. Again, the capital letter is audible. Say it with me, now: Grooming.

Grooming: (v) the process of removing hair from (Oh, my God! You mean I have hair THERE?!?!) various parts of one’s body through the use of assorted (often painful ~ ouch! *@#$!) methods. [See also: torture, masochism, and insanity, which can be found under subheading: ‘exercises in futility’.]

I engage in a variety of body hair removal activities on a regular (read: hourly) basis. Razors and wax and tweezers, oh my!  Mr. Fever finds my fastidiousness fascinating…or maybe it’s just the fact that he gets excited when he hears me yelling, “fuck, Fuck, FUCK!” while I rip the wax strip off a particularly tender morsel of skin…  Perhaps he thinks all the “FUCK!”-ing is an invitation…?

Anywhoo…

Occasionally I wonder if anyone else in the universe is a fuzzy bunny too. (Or a Wookie?  Ewok?  Maybe I’m an E-wookie!  Lol.)  Or maybe I’m the only one, having been born into a family that has the bad luck to be genetically predisposed to resemble a horde burmese monkeys. My ancestors were bearded warriors after all…and that was just the women!  (Talk about wearing your hair in braids!  Chin hairs, that is.)

Sigh…

For anyone else who engages in these ridiculous rituals, I salute you!

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Fun Fact: Marilyn Monroe had a fine layer of hair that covered her entire face and body. That’s why her skin appeared to glow, especially in black and white photographs.

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So next time that wax strip goes rriiiip, think of the great MM (not to be confused with M&Ms…that’s another issue entirely) and become one with the pain.  Or you can let it all hang out (sprout out?)…  Just channel Marilyn and keep your chin up…but make sure your tweezers and mirror are handy while your chin is in the air so you can pluck any wild hairs you see there.

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Now:  Where the hell are my tweezers?

Long-Haired Freaky People Need Not Apply

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So I put my hair under my hat and I went in to ask him why…

Recognize those lyrics?  No?  Then you’re probably not old enough to be here.  So go on, now.  Shoo!

And today’s topic, boys and girls, is SIGNS.

And, for the record, long-haired freaky people are totally welcome.  Emphasis on the freaky.  (Short-hairs and baldies too!)

Right.

Soooo…

One of my blogger friends is trying to figure out my totem.  I suggested to him that I might be a wortle (wolf + turtle), but somehow I don’t think he was impressed with my self-analysis.  I suppose its possible that I could be a bear…  But mostly I’m just bare, and I don’t think that’s quite the same thing.

But all his talk of totems got me thinking about the circumstances of my birth (NOT, mind you, the circumstances of my conception…I’d prefer not to think about my mother having sex, thankyouverymuch), and I want to help my dear friend along in his quest to figure me out (long pause while I contemplate whether or not this is even remotely possible), but I also thought it would be fun for me to try to figure you out.

So, for all five of you who read my blog, I pose this question:

What’s YOUR sign?  (Or, in the aforementioned freaky-people speak:  Like, what’s yer sign, dude?)

Puzzled?  Me too!  (We have so much in common!)  I’m always puzzled when someone asks me this question.

And by ‘puzzled’ I don’t mean ‘I don’t understand the question’. Because of course I understand what a SIGN is.

Stop.
Slow Speed. School Crossing.
Achtung!
Welcome to Fort Bliss.
Buy One, Get One Free.
Limited Time Only.

Signs, signs, everywhere are signs,
Blockin’ up the scenery, breakin’ my mind,
Do this, don’t do that,
Can’t you see the signs?

This Musical Interlude was brought to you by the number 2 (which is how many orgasms I had yesterday) and the letter F.  For Fever.  And Fuckmeharderdammit!

Heh.

But I digress.

Back to the question.

What’s your sign?

I’m a Pisces. I was born on the cusp of Aries in the year of the Dragon. Which makes me a goal-driven creative pragmatist with a wild imagination who is also a bit…fierce.  (I don’t necessarily breathe fire, but I have teeth and claws…  So, um…  It’s possible that I occasionally bite and scratch.  But not hard enough to draw blood.  Usually.  I think.) An oldest child (for those of you who are into the birth order), I was born under Carter in the middle of a thunderstorm. Translated, that means I’m too honest to be any good as a politician, but I’m generous.  And I’m wet.

Always, always wet.  😉

(Yes, I’m in my sexual prime.  In case you were wondering.  Or, ya know…even if you weren’t wondering.  Just thought I’d put that out there.  The information might cum in handy…)

Anywhoo…

That’s the simple answer.

So:  What’s YOUR sign?

Wanton Wednesday: Just Sittin' Here…

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…All alone in this empty bed…

The cushy comforter has ROSES on it… I like roses. They’re (heh) thorny.

NAKED

Whattaya know? My feet match my (cough) flower…

Contemplatin’ my toes.  😉

More about Wanton Wednesdays can be found on my blog.  Thanks for stopping by!

Funny

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Somehow, I think the friend who sent this to me might be a little concerned about my sex life.  The Mister has been working over time…just not under me.  😉