The waxing.

So there are a lot of things that women do to be pretty. We pluck and we pierce. We shave and we straighten. And we wax.

I had a four o'clock appointment with my "waxologist" Taylor. Now, Taylor could be a boy or a girl. I prayed to God and all that is holy and sacred in this world that Taylor was a girl. When a deep voice bellowed "Jessica?" in the waiting room, I rescinded all religion on the spot. My cheeks were burning as I walked through the big glass doors to the waxing room. He led me into a small room that smelled like burning crayons. He held up these little tiny PAPER PANTIES and said "Taylor will be with you shortly". I almost started to cry on the spot and quickly told the Lord I was just kidding about the whole recession thing. Meanwhile, I was not putting on the paper panties--I shoved those in a potted tree near the door.

I laid down on the table and tried to relax. There was soft oriental music in the background and a heated water pillow under my head. I took a deep breath and was settling in when the door flung open. Standing in the entire doorway was a very large woman with a severe bun and permanent frown. "Taylor eez bizzie" she grumbled. "Legz and bikini?" A very tiny part of me screamed "No thank you Yetti" but the rest of me gulped and nodded. She nodded (and grunted?) and set to work warming up the wax. She placed a small amount on my calf, rubbed it down with a small cloth, and RRRIIPPP--it was as if millions of leg hairs cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. Well, my leg was not about to let this She-man get away with it. I watched in slow motion as my leg lifted itself off the soft table, and with, toes pointed, came in contact with her stubbly chin. She reeled backwards and bumped into the burner where the wax was heated. The wax sloshed up over the sides like a volcano read to blow. She stood up and looked at me with the look of death common on all Eastern European women over a certain age. I tried to apologize, but my words were struck with fear and would not come out. After a few terrifying seconds, her mouth contorted into what I believe was a smile. She chuckled a little and said "Waxing hurtz. Keep your foot down, pleaz"

The rest of the experience was intolerably painful, and I'm sure Helga wasn't pulling any punches. When it was over, I sat up and looked down at my very red, very sticky legs. As I tried to pull my pants back on, she said "You want me to do zomething about thoze eyebrowz? Ze look like Groucho Marx." I think I deserved that.

Meanwhile, I'm still sticking to my pants.

Diet coke break

So I can always tell what kind of day it is going to be by how early I need a Diet Coke. I know it is going to be a bad day when I am making my way to the soda machine at work before 10 am.

Today, I brought a bottle of Diet Coke to work.

I was late to work this morning because I had to request my transcripts from the University Registrar. I hate dealing with University bureaucrats. Its like my dad always says: Universities are the last bastion of waste. So a little before 8 am I found myself in the Registration queue in the brand new building they built the year my tuition went up 9%. A woman was sitting at her desk, smiling at me. I walked forward and began to sit down. "We open at 8," she barked, still smiling. I looked at my watch - it was 7:59 and the seconds hand was three-quarters of the way around. I looked back at the smiling woman, turned around, and walked back to my place in the queue. She smiled at me for another thirty seconds or so and then asked "Can I help you?" I told her I needed my transcripts. She smiled and said I could come back after I filled out this form. But hahaha! I already had filled out the form. Slightly ruffled, she asked if I wanted my transcript now or five days from now. Is this a trick question? Do I want my transcripts now or risk losing them to the ubiquitous black hole that is the University Registrar? I said now would be good and she said it would be $10. I reached into my bag for my checkbook and she said Oh no, you don't pay me, you need to go to the cashier, pointing to the desk next to hers. I stood up, moved the three feet between her desk and the cashiers, and sat down in front of an equally-smiley woman. I told her what I needed (even though she had heard everything smiley woman number 1 had said). I wrote her a check and sat back, waiting for my transcript.

But I was not done jumping through hoops. Smiley woman number 2 handed me a stack of papers and said you need to go to Room 120, past the windows, around the bend, over the river, and through the woods. I walked into Room 120 and entered the land of Weight Watchers. Nearly a dozen middle-aged cream puffs were hovering around a scale, waiting to get weighed (there was one Jack Sprat standing in a corner, looking as though he was very nervous that one of them might accidentally sit on him). Apparently they were trying to lose weight in teams; whichever team lost the most weight won a glazed donut or something, I didn't catch the reward. Twenty minutes later, one of them smiled at me and asked if I was waiting for something.

On the way to work, I stopped at a gas station. I have never been more happy to see a Diet Coke in my life.

Raindrops on roses it ain't

So, in an attempt to make myself feel better, less blah (in a twisted sort of its always darkest before the dawn sort of way), here is a list of things that make me sad.
1. When balloons float away.
2. When someone drops a cupcake on the floor.
3. That no one sang me "16 Candles" on my 16th birthday.
4. When it goes too long before it rains.
5. When it goes too long before the sun comes out.
6. When they issue tornado warnings for Doppler indicated tornadoes that turn out to be wrong.
7. The song Hey Jude.
8. The fact that Joe Paterno really has gone past ripe old age and is starting to attract flies without a recent National Championship (or a winning season for that matter).
9. The fact that all the Marx Bros. AND Bing Crosby are dead.
10. That the Democratic Party has been reduced to toddler status in this country.
11. The fact that the one person who could probably make me happy has no idea.
12. That the guy who played Egon Spangler in the Ghostbuster movies got fat.
13. That Episodes I and II sucked.
14. That Episode III probably will, too.
15. That pirates don't exist anymore.

Fifteen is probably enough. I don't need all two of you who read this to go rushing to join me on the University Bridge waiting for the Coke Express to come by....

Lucky charms

So I love St. Patrick's Day. I love it because on what other day can you get someone who rarely makes it to a 10:30 class out of bed at 7:30 to go drinkin'? What other day is acceptable to meet up with people between classes and go drinkin'? And on what other day can you drop all other responsibilities and use the rest of the day to continue drinkin'? Fantastic.

Another interesting thing about the sacred holy day is the first-timers. For a lot of them, it is the first time they are out at a bar publicly and legally drunk. Some of them have absolutely no idea what to do with themselves or this new-found freedom that we alcoholics have grown accustomed to. Like this one kid sitting next to me at the bar. He asks me if I was there with my husband. I "flicked him off" with the naked ring finger on my left hand. He leaned in (he actually was having trouble staying vertical) and asked if I wanted to do a shot. I said sure (who turns down free alcohol??) and asked what he was drinking. When he said tequila, I knew he was in over his head. But the smooth-talker was not finished: he said we should chase the tequila with a kiss. So I'm not about to disappoint the whipper-snapper buying me booze, so I say, what the hell. So now that the charmer had an inch, he was going to go for the full mile. We should practice our chaser before the tequila gets here, he says. I'm thinking, why not, he has beads (and you know I'll do anything for beads). So we kept busy while we waited for the tequila. Finally it arrives, we each take a glass. I do mine and turn to my supplier: he's got this funny look on his face, like when Flounder is in Dean Wormer's office. He takes a sip of tequila and he's done--off for the bathroom. The bartender asked if I was with him. I finished his tequila, said no, and left for home.

I love this day.

Ball gowns...

So, besides my twin, I have a younger sister. She is a senior in high school and will graduate in May. And as of January 1, this year became the year of our Lord Katelyn 2005. She is the top of her class, an athlete, and a singer. Even though I'm the oldest, I have a serious case of the Jan Brady syndrome.

So prom is coming up, and Oola and I were enlisted to help pick out the yards and yards of satin and crinoline that was to be Kat's ball gown. Of course, she doesn't really want my help: she just wants to twirl around in little fairy princess dresses and remind me how everything fits her to a T and everything fits me like some awkward letter, like W or cursive Q. She really wanted something with a train; I reminded her that people will be dancing and the train is not the best idea when you have a bunch of un-graceful-gangly-testosterone-driven-teenage boys moving in clumps to "Yeah". She took my advice for about five minutes, found a very pretty yellow dress within an hour (which is like God creating the Earth in 7 days...really good time), and was good to go. But then, she remembered the whole train thing, and spent the next FOUR HOURS looking for a dress with a train.

Five hours later, she bought the damn yellow dress.

Thunder and lightning

So I can't begin to tell you how big of a nerd Jessica is. We went home for dinner tonight and what is the first thing she does with my parent's digital cable? She puts on the Weather Channel. She could seriously watch that station for hours. She's like a 65 year old man in a twenty-something body. Springtime is a big deal to her. With the arrival of the flowers (and consequently, her allergies) also comes the arrival of her favorite thing: tornadoes. It's seriously disturbing how excited she gets when she hears the tornado siren. When we still lived at home and the siren went off, she would run outside and stand in the middle of the cul de sac looking up. The neighbors all thought she was a bit of a loon. I tend to agree with them.

Stuck in a timewarp

Okay, so not to keep harping about a decade with interesting hair choices, but there was this movie that Oola and I loved when we were little. The details are real sketchy and foggy, but the basic premise is this girl somehow gets transported to this magical place. And there is this evil queen who eats these little orange fruit things to stay young (she is actually like 700 years old) and the fruit tree is in this big glass cage type thing and the girl has to get some fruit (I don't remember why). And in the beginning of the movie she makes a pancake and bacon sandwich. I think the movie was on HBO, but I could be wrong. I had it on tape, but I believe it was beta.

Any ideas would be super (especially for you Google-ites out there).

Made in Japan for our afternoon delight

So, a couple days ago a friend of Jessica's enlisted our help in trying to figure out an 80's cartoon character. (As it turns out it was from Robotech). So that got me thinking of all the other fabulous cartoons there were when we were children. Jessica and I weren't latchkey kids; our babysitter was the television. There were so many good cartoons, I can't list them all. Even Disney had a couple that were really good--I mean, who doesn't love Duck Tales, and who can't sing the theme song to Tale Spin (I just realized the similarity in titles....maybe they needed a better title writer). Anyway, this was just to remind you of a simpler time...well, at least those of you who don't have time for cartoons anymore. Some of us still enjoy a bowl of Sugar Crisp cereal in our jammies every now and again.