Hope Springs Eternal.

Yes we can, and yes we did.

It’s the dawning of a new day here in America.  I must say, I’m a bit dehydrated from all the tears of joy I shed on my couch last night, watching Obama’s victory speech. Surely that man was born in a manger.

I must admit, I was a little nervous all day remembering some of the ugly antics of the 2000 election… the hanging chads, the voter fraud, the thousands of democrats who were prevented from voting. Especially now that our voting system is so highly computerized, I definitely had moments of doubt yesterday that even if we turned out in record numbers, some corrupt hacker would find a way to manipulate the system and another election would be stolen from our hands. I’m so relieved that we were able to ”Barack The Vote” with such fortitude and win this thing beyond a shadow of a doubt. We did it. Oh yes we did.   

Even though I’m a big fan of “The Secret” and spent the last few weeks visualizing an Obama victory, I did have moments of doubt, I’m ashamed to say. When I heard the soccer moms at my bus stop identifying with Sarah Palin and trusting John McCain, the doubt started to creep in. And when my kids came home from school asking me questions like, “Mom? What do you have against John McCain? All the other kids’ parents are voting for him!” I worried. And when one of my own family members sent me a racist email of Obama shining Palin’s shoes, I definitely had my doubts that Americans could look past the color of his skin and choose Obama for the content of his character.  

And when my friend and I dressed up for Halloween like Sarah Palin and her unwed pregnant teen daughter Bristol Palin, and the people in my neighborhood totally DIDN’T GET THE JOKE, I was definitely a little afraid.

Nor did my neighbors think training a toy rifle on my wolf-children while pageant posing and winking was very tasteful or funny, but I’m kinda used to that reaction.

So even though I live in a red state and have been listening to people spew hatred about my candidate for months, today I am vindicated. Yes, today, I feel redemption, belonging, and pride in my country. Hope springs eternal.  

In fact, I am completely filled with a sense of optimism today. Like it’s spring cleaning time. Out with the old, in with the new! And to piggyback on all this hope and joy, I’m going to do a little deep cleaning myself today. 

I think I’ll start with my colon. You heard me. I’m going to eliminate the toxins from my body, just like we are about to rid our nation of the toxic Bush regime. Like Former Secretary of State Colin Powell broke with his party and endorsed Sen. Barack Obama, I’m going to take an extra big dose of my bulk-forming laxative today and get ready for a nice “clean break” myself on the old Thomas Crapper tomorrow.  ”He has both style and substance. I think he is a transformational figure,” Powell said on NBC’s Meet the Press recently. Yep. Agreed. I’ll tell you what else has style, substance, and can be transformational… a nice healthy dump. Oh yes I did.  

But I won’t stop there. I’m going to drink at least 8 glasses of water today. Water is also transformational, just like the baptismal waters that cleanse people of sin so they can be born again. Our nation desperately needs a rebirth! Barack Obama will be like the spring rain that washes away the dirty gray slush and helps the flowers to grow. He’ll be walking into a filthy quagmire come January, but I have faith that he will assemble the best team to clean up the heinous mess that Bush is leaving behind. It might take a while… big messes usually do. But we can do it. Yes we can.  

And I might even slap on one of those Biore Pore Cleansing strips today, to pull the blackheads out of my pores the way I hope Obama will pull our soldiers out of Iraq and bring them home. 

Maybe I’ll use some Crest Whiting Strips to remove the dull film of coffee and wine stains from my teeth like the way Obama will clean up the tarnished reputation our nation has earned around the globe thanks to Bush/Cheney and their redneck “country first” mentality. It’s amazing how much better people are received by others when their teeth are clean, isn’t it? Elitist, I know. Sue me.

And you know what? Maybe I’ll even take a shower today. Or maybe not. But I like having the choice on what to do with my body and I feel confident that Barack Obama and Joe Biden will preserve my rights to make those choices.

If I do choose to take a shower, I’ll definitely use some Magic Cream on the undercarriage. You know, strip away the extra layers of pork, if you will. 

Wow, sounds like a busy morning I’ve got ahead of me. I better get crackin’! Good thing I’m feeling so energetic and optimistic. Hope is a powerful drug. HOPE. It’s legal, free, and has no adverse side effects. I could get used to this! Thank you America!

© 2008 The Bearded Iris 

Cla-HAIR-rification

Well, hot damn, ya’ll! Thanks for all the great comments and responses about That Old Black Magic! It is so nice to know that so many of you have struggled with similar body and facial hair issues and have some great tips to share.  I sure do appreciate your generosity!

Special thanks to my friend “Suburban Slave” for suggesting that one should always pre-trim before any kind of wax or cream application. Her suggestion for The Remington Trim and Shape, sounds like a real winner. I also just love her practical tips for using this trimmer “in the shower or get this…straddling the toilet backwards!” Wow! Girl, you sound like more fun than Bristol Palin on junior prom night! Call me next time you go out Honkey Tonkin’…I’m in!  

I would also just like to clarify about something pertaining to my own hygiene preferences. Yes, there are some people who do prefer “The Hollywood”…which means that EVERY LAST HAIR is removed from the genital region.  I am not that kind of girl, honey. Personally, I think that is a teensy bit on the creepy side. And if my husband liked it totally hairless, I’d be worried that maybe he preferred his girls a bit younger than me.  And by younger, I mean prepubescent. In other words, ewwwwww. 

So, nooooo. When I wax or Magic Cream my goodie basket, I like to leave a little landing strip…like a visual guide for my husband. I do believe he appreciates the extra effort. But I’ll let him tell you himself if he chooses to comment. You might not believe this, but that sweet man is one of The Bearded Iris’s biggest fans!  Isn’t that something?!  You know he is one hell of a special man if he supports and even occasionally applauds his wife telling (and sometimes showing) all this raunchy smut to the whole wide world. Thanks, hon. Sorry about that time I called you a “butt-munch.” Oh and also that time I called you a “punk ass bitch” and threatened to chain you up in the garage and kill you with rat poisoning. You know I was just funnin’ with you, right?

So back to my bearded clam and exactly what I mean by “keeping my shiznit tidy and tiny.”  I will gladly illustrate it for you visual people.   

My goodie basket used to look like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and now it looks more like this (minus the dancing dinner rolls on the forks…usually):

 

….well, actually, if you want to split hairs (mwah mwah!), it really looks more like this:

Got it?  Sorry about the confusion, ya’ll.  

So, in summary: not bald, just tiny.  Rhymes with shiny and hiney. Coincidence? I think not. 

But listen friends, your choices for bush hogging and muff styling are only limited by your imagination. Check out these fun ideas sent into me by one of my favorite Aussie readers: New Waxing Options for the Progressive Woman.  Wow – that shit is funny.  I’ve unintentionally sported a few of those looks over the years. Now I’m real careful to not tend to my feminine hygiene after too many drinks or without my glasses. Another good tip for you mothers out there: wait until your kids are asleep or at school before you do any kind of bush whacking.  As if my kids needed ONE MORE REASON for psychotherapy.  Poor things.  

A’ight. Keep it clean, girls.  Nobody (except maybe Dr. Oz) wants a big ol’ stanky bush for a hat.  Just remember what my least favorite Food Network star says: “Keep it simple. Keep it sweet. And always keep it semi-homemade.”  Although, I’m pretty sure she was talking about an elaborately themed table scape and not about her perky blonde childless va-jay-jay, but whatever.

That Old Black Magic

Some of you may recall my never-ending postpartum battle with body and facial hair. (See Hello world! and Shiny).  This is not my favorite topic. It’s a tad bit embarrassing. However, if I can make even one woman feel better about herself knowing that she is either not alone in the world or at least not as bad off as I am, then I’ve done my job. And to you, oh fellow hairy one, you are welcome.   

Let’s start at the top and work our way south, shall we?

The beard?  Well, I’ve tried myriad things to manage my facial hair. I’ve plucked it.  I’ve waxed it.  I’ve used creams that burn, and irritate, and cause temporary facial paralysis. I’ve even tried laser hair removal, but apparently I gave up on it too soon. I only went for 3 of the 5 recommended treatments, and gave up. I just lost the desire and energy to keep plunking down cash at the dermatologist for something that clearly wasn’t working (and at $150 a pop, who can blame me?).  So now I just pluck, when I remember, or when I stab one of my sweet children while I’m kissing them and they wince or cry.  I also tend to wear very low cut tops.  I find that people don’t really notice my beard when they are staring at my tits.  Try this.  It works.

Now, as for the bush, that is a different matter.  I put a helluva LOT more time and effort into keeping that kitty groomed.  I have to.  If I didn’t, it would be about the size of a dinner plate.  I’m talking belly button to knees, people.  Hairy.  My father’s ancestors are from Eastern Europe.  Body hair was an evolutionary gift designed to protect my people from freezing to death in the Russian tundra.  But I live in Georgia USA, not the Georgia that is between Russia and Turkey, so trapping body heat is less of an issue for this little ol’ Southern Belle.  And as for my Bountiful Bellorussian Beave, I’d wrap it in a babushka if I could, but that tends to look bulky under my designer denim.  So, I choose to keep my shiznit tidy and tiny instead.  

Now get this.  I saw Dr. Oz on the Oprah show recently and he was answering all kinds of embarrassing questions from the ladies in the audience. Well, one of the audience members was asking about the Brazilian Bikini Wax, and Oprah was riveted!  And I have to believe that if someone like ME has a fur-burger the size of a dinner plate, you just know that Oprah’s is like the size of the dining room table….with all the leaves in it.  Anyhooo, Dr. Oz said that the real evolutionary purpose of pubic hair is to absorb odor and that the pheromones that are held and disbursed by the pubes are meant to attract a mate so that procreation will occur.  Ehhh, gross, dude.  I’ll take a freshly washed goodie basket any day of the week. Dr. Oz also called the vagina a “self-cleaning oven.”  Um, excuse me, Dr. Oz….I don’t know what kind of fancy-ass-8-burner-Viking-style-stainless-steel-range-and-cooktop-combo you’ve got going on in your castle, but here in my backwoods trailer, the self-cleaning oven still needs a pretty regular spritz of EASY-OFF®, if you know what I mean.  But then again, maybe Dr. Oz just likes his beeotches furry and funky. In which case, Doc, pull on the scrubs, grab your stethoscope, and I’ll send one of my sisters over in 10 minutes.  

So yes, back to my undercarriage. I’ve tried just about everything down yonder.  I’ve shaved it.  Ouch.  I’ve waxed it myself. Not fun. I’ve plucked it. Tedious. I’ve spent the big bucks on a Brazilian Bikini Wax. Humiliating. I’ve done nothing. Not pretty. Since the laser treatments didn’t really work on my little chinny-chin-chin, I didn’t want to bother with it on my ten pound tuna taco.  So what is a hairy and harried mother of three, who is quickly approaching her sexual prime, to do? They say you attract more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.  So, I’m thinking if I keep the grass mowed, maybe my husband will be more likely to pull up a lawn chair and sit for a spell.  

Well, imagine my delight at finding a new hair removal product that I can use at home, by myself, that only takes about 10 minutes, for pennies on the dollar?  Brace yourself.  This is a beauty secret that you definitely won’t hear at the Curl Up and Dye hair salon.

I have recently started using “Magic Cream” shave depilatory. Made by SoftSheen-Carson, this razorless beard remover is “formulated exclusively for black men.” Don’t adjust your screen. There is nothing wrong with your eyes. Yes, this is a cream made for the faces of black men, and yours truly is slathering it on my white, female, naughty parts. And since it is gentle enough for faces, you can put it EVERYWHERE down there and get results just like a Brazilian or Hollywood style wax job. (Mom, you and your Bible Study Group probably aren’t going to believe this, but lots of folks today like to remove all the hair from their vertical bacon sandwiches AND their bushy bum-holes. Just thought I’d explain, because I know you’re not hip to the lingo. And I sure do appreciate you taking the time to read my raunchy smut. Please apologize to Father Raphael for me.) 

How in the world did I discover this, you ask? Well, one of my very good friends (who would like to remain nameless) told me about it. She discovered this gem from a discussion board on one of the parenting web sites!  I swear.  I could not make this up if I tried, ya’ll.  And you thought we were exchanging organic carob chip cookie recipes and ideas for regimenting our children’s sleep schedules. Think again, honey. Women of the 21st century are swapping hygiene and grooming tips for their battered beavaroonies on babycenter.com.  Gawd, I love the Internet.   

So a 6 oz. tube of this fabulous stuff costs about $3-$4, but I just saw that you can bid on it by the lot on eBay. Wow, the secret must be out if people are auctioning this shit in bulk. Me? I’m not much of an Internet shopper. Besides, I really have a lot of fun buying this stuff at my local mega store in person. It is just some good clean fun to buy a product that looks like this: 

…in one of the most red-necky places on Earth.  Don’t you just love freaking out the white supremacists bagging your groceries and hygiene products at the Walmart? Oh Lordy. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Here’s what you can expect if you try this product at home:

• It smells a little like a bad perm, but not nearly as bad as Nair®. 
• You need to keep it on for about 5-10 minutes…make sure you have a book or magazine to read while you wait for the Magic to happen. 
• The directions say to “gently remove with edge of a spatula.” I find that one of the extra Nylon Pan Scrapers that came with my stoneware baking pans from The Pampered Chef®  is just perfect for this task.  (Thanks Mary Louise! I’d be happy to host another cooking show soon…call me!)  

Nylon Pan Scrapers by The Pampered Chef®

Scrape off baked-on foods (and excess pubic hair) with little effort. 

One other thing to note: the magic only lasts for a few days, and the stubble is not pleasant. But like my anonymous friend says, “You don’t get the up-do three days before the prom. ‘Black-Man’ your crotch on a Friday morning and set the tone for the whole weekend.” That girl is somethin’, ya’ll. If you ever find a friend who will share a beauty tip like THIS, never let her go.

Good luck, and if you have any personal hygiene tips you’d like to share, I’d love to hear them! In fact…let’s just make this interesting, shall we?  I have a brand new, unopened tube of Magic Cream for the best muff story or genital-related hygiene tip shared below as a comment.  Get busy, ya’ll.  

Shiny

The Brazilian Bikini Wax.  Easily the single most humiliating experience of my life.  Way worse than walking home from high school one day with my private girl’s school uniform skirt accidently tucked into the back of my panties, thinking that all those honks and whistles meant that I was lookin’ SO cute that day. Ugh.  I guess if I knew then what I know now about what age and motherhood does to the bod, I would have showcased that package in public more often. Live and learn.  

But truly, in terms of unmitigated humiliation, nothing compares to letting someone wax your entire undercarriage.  Particularly if that someone is a perky college girl named Tiffany, wearing a sorority t-shirt and a Pebbles-esque ponytail on top of her head. The worst part was that I was about 8 months pregnant at the time, wanting to clean up the area before the big show.  But when you are that pregnant, and in your late thirties, and 50 pounds overweight, and bloated like a three-day-old floating corpse, the last thing you need to be doing is lying on your side naked from the waist down, pulling your top leg up to your chest, and letting a cheerful young college girl apply hot wax to your hairy asshole.  Dude, I am not kidding.  It didn’t even hurt that bad, it was just the utter embarrassment.  The complete and total knowledge that sweet young Tiffany was probably going to use that visual as birth control for many years to come.  

Now normally, I’m a big fan of the female anatomy and think that pregnant women are an especially lovely feast for the eyes.  However, the extreme close up and privileged angle afforded to the Brazilian Bikini Waxologist is not for the faint of heart, capisce?  There is a lot of stuff going on down there when you have 10 pounds of baby pressing down on your goody basket.  I’m talking veins.  I’m talking excessive moisture. I’m talking hemorrhoids.  Are you with me so far?  And oh, the debilitating fear that I would accidentally release a pregnant fart while she was down there with her hot wax.  I was just imagining my divine wind blowing her ponytail back and burning her eyelashes off.  Thankfully I was too stressed out and clenched up to let anything slip out. Thank you, Jesus! Note to self: the power of prayer is not to be underestimated.  

So I just want to say, “fuck you Gwyneth Paltrow,” for glamorizing the whole Brazilian bikini wax thing in that interview I read online.  I didn’t “glide” around my house afterward…I slumped.  And I scratched.  And I had nightmares for weeks about frightening my midwife with my angry red A-hole.  No, you can’t always believe what you read.  Particularly from a woman who named her first born after a piece of fruit.  So Gwyneth, when I see you on Oprah today, I’m not going to be able to think about anything but the fact that you have a bald, shiny, ripe apple under your dress.  Thanks a lot.  

 

Beauty and The Beast

or, what my vagina and Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina would look like side by side