Why is it that women, in the last few decades or so, are expected to remove the hair from their nether regions? I mean, men can have the bushiest of bushes with a trail leading all the way up to their eyeballs and no one gives a fuck.

But women? Not so much.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I prefer a trimmed up area myself but it is a total bitch getting it taken care of. Either we’ve got to learn new acrobatic moves to shave down there or we have to shell out close to a hundred bucks to have someone rip that crap from our bodies OR we invest in the type of radical hair removal technology that would scare small children. Or big children. Or anybody.

Dear goodness, WHY?!

I’ll admit it, I absolutely loved it when I got to pay someone else to take care of it for me. Thanks to ibuprofen, the waxing session wasn’t nearly as painful as one might think. The problem was that I used a gift card for that and haven’t been able to afford it since.

Naturally, this means I’ve had to resort to shaving.

I. Hate. Shaving.

First of all, I wear glasses. Secondly, my shower isn’t nicely lit. Third, rinsing the blade after each stroke in drips of water is a pain in the ass.

So, here I am bent over in the shower attempting to remove unwanted hair without falling over, without cutting myself and without slipping. Of course my glasses like to slide down to the bottom of my nose rendering me practically blind while in a dark shower.

Great.

Then I have to make sure that the shower part is off but the water is still running from the main spout. This is to rinse the hair away quickly and efficiently. Meanwhile, I’m depriving some poor African kids of the water they so desperately need because my cooch takes precedent. Obviously.

Now I feel like a jackass. Even better.

After all of the fuss with getting myself prepped, I need to use shower gel. That shit is magical except for the part where I now have slippery skin against a slippery hand. This increases the potential for nicks and cuts by about 1,000%.

Fucking eh.

If you’re like me, then the asshole needs to be equally taken care of. And that, my dear friends, sucks a big fat one. How in the hell am I supposed to reach back there without being able to see?! More importantly, I have a fat ass and spreading those cheeks in the water with shower gel is about as easy as sticking my fist through a block of cement.

Please stab me in the eyeballs now.

Sure, I could do a dryer shave by propping my leg up on my sink but I still have to bend my head down to see anything. As stated before, gravity hates me. And yay! I’m blind again. Moreover, the friction of razor against skin is much more intense without proper lather of soap, water and shower gel.. so I tend to find myself with razor burn.

What a bitch.

So… it’s the 20SB Vlog Day and my camera decided to take this moment to be a total shit. This is unfortunate for several reasons, but mostly because it’s 4-fucking-45 am and I filmed it 15 minutes ago.

Now.. y’all know that means high-quality footage right?

Right?!

Well anyway. Since I can’t post the video I want, I’ll go ahead and post this gem of Maxie and I screeching singing at the top of our lungs on the way back home from Chicago/Cleveland. Please note that the song of choice has nothing to do with my previous post as this was filmed before I was in a relationship.

Plus, when you drive for a katrillion hours you tend to exhaust your song options well before you originally intend to. Or at least we did.

Please remember to keep the volume DOWN. I will not be held responsible for anybody’s split ear drum. If you hear anything particularly horrible, just blame me. I’m the one who proclaims that “we’re rockstars” at the end despite fucking up the lyrics.

Oh! And you also get to see my lovely driving speeding techniques.
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1) Request that your personal items be shipped to you. No point in doing it face to face. Right? Right.

2) Pretend that getting an email notification of said break up is totally the legit way to go. Dude! It’s totally like breaking up with someone using a Post-It note. Class-y.

3) Act really mature like everything’s okay when in fact you just want to exclaim, “You’re a fucking dick!” as loud as fucking possible.

4) Remove all traces of said person from all social networking sites, cell phones and emails. It’s like ripping off a band-aid. The quicker the better.

5) Blog about it. Duh.