I Am Not My Hair

HerpWatch 2007 continues here on Day Six, and I’m mostly all set with having a cold sore. What was once a minor nuisance has become another member of our family and it’s already started to ask if it can have the car keys to go to the mall for some new pants and lip gloss.

I thought it was interesting, by the way, that so many of you considered bikini waxer to be a worse job than a podiatrist, surprisingly, I disagree. Yes, yes of COURSE it’s not my dream to rip hundreds of hairs from strangers’ nethers, but I get why people are insanely passionate about hair removal, because I’m the same way. I hate body hair of any sort, and am extremely vigilant about the removal of any hair on my body below the neck–well, except for the tops of my arms, but believe me, if it was at all convenient and/or socially acceptable to get rid of that hair, I would oh, I would–and I get why other people are into helping others achieve the same level of babybutt smoothness all over. I mean, bikini waxers do so much more than bikini lines – they do legs! Eyebrows! Armpits! All areas that should be hair-free under all circumstances. Well, I mean, eyebrows can have some hair of course, but of the neat and clean variety, rather than Malcom MacDowell in “A Clockwork Orange.”

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I hate hair of any sort – it’s one of those things that skeeves me out in ways I can’t properly articulate, and I realize it makes me a little weird and maybe just a twinge obsessive compulsive. Yes, yes, it’s anti-feminist to some, but honestly, I don’t care, because I cannot help myself. This is going to sound crazy, but it’s part of the reason I have my hair very short (well, that and the fact that I look like I’m wearing a wig with any hair longer than ear-length), because finding large tumbleweeds of human hair around my house freaks me out, and I definitely don’t have the intestinal fortitude to mess with it. It should be noted that this aversion does not extend to pet hair, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

So, although it’s not for me, I get why people are strangely drawn to help other people become hairless, especially if they feel even a little bit about it the way I do. My theory is bolstered by one of the first bikini waxers I’d ever been to – an enthusiastic overplucked chicken named Vicki – who was so passionate about hair removal that I was practically cheering along with her as she yanked my heart right out of my girly bits. She would rip a chunk out then show me what she’d removed, excitedly crowing about all that we’d accomplished together (no kidding), and despite the fact that I could barely see from the pain, I was entirely with her. And really, I’m thankful that someone wants to do it, because I would be lost without them, just LOST, I tell you.

Also, it goes without saying that 1970s-style…nethers…frighten me and dismay me to no end.

Moving on! We saw Knocked Up this weekend, and though I was skeptical at first (though emboldened by -R-’s brief-but-glowing review), it was absolutely divine. Kid you not, I haven’t laughed that hard at a movie in years, and though I generally avoid movie theaters, for I am addicted to the at-home convenience of my own snacks, toilet and unlimited ability to pause, I am half-tempted to go see it again. In truth, however, I found it to be one of the raunchier movies I’ve seen in a long time, confirmed by the fact that three old women two rows in front of us walked out in disgust after a beautifully-delivered line featuring the term “protein shake.”

In addition, I read Rebecca Eckler’s “Knocked Up…” a while ago, and find her comparisons to the movie and claims of plagiarism…well, I don’t buy it. The jokes and similarities she finds are a stretch to claim as her own and, as others have noted, she’d have to sue 99% of North American women and their husbands for daring to have a similar pregnancy. And further, nearly every “joke” she claims is her own, I’ve seen in other movies and books well before her novel came out, so the whole thing is really hard to swallow for me. Not that anyone asked.

And finally, because if I didn’t know, I wish someone would have told me: It’s the semi-annual sale at Bath & Body Works, and though I find most of their products and scents to be cheap and a little tacky, I also find them strangely addictive. It’s worth noting that I collect mostly high-end perfume, which is an annoying and expensive little habit I usually keep to myself, though I’ve had it for years. However, I find something about little plastic bottles of cheap lotion so utterly compelling that my bathroom looks like a halfway house for recovering lotions and shower gels. I picked up two bottles of Strawberry Lemonade-scented lotion and gel just because I could, despite the fact that I enjoy neither the scent of strawberries, nor lemonade. In fact, both make me a little nauseated. But…it was $4!

Happy Sunday-slash-Monday.

*India.Arie

21 comments June 10th, 2007