Tag Archives: beauty

Nair, And My Beautiful Depilatory Accident

In the last gasp of warm Summer weather, I decided to take my kids to the beach. They could frolic, and I could… watch them from the comfort of my beach chair.

Seems idyllic, no? But the one thing tI didn’t count on was the presence of a giant afro growing between my legs.

Usually, my ladyland is neat, tidy, and fresh as a newly bathed baby. But, lately, I have… let myself go.

Chalk it up to the stress of divorce or general laziness, but the fact remains, there is an out of control jungle in my pants and your average machete won’t be able to get rid of it.

I tried to think out of the box. I didn’t want to shave because razor burn always looks like an STD, and as a single woman, that’s something I must avoid at all costs if I ever expect to get my kitty petted.

Nair, And My Beautiful Depilatory Accident | Ponies and Martinis

Oh, Nair. What would I do without you?

Now, I could wax, but, confession time, I have never waxed my nethers. And, frankly, the thought makes my clitoris invert. Yes, I have survived two vaginal births, but when the tape that was holding my IV in place was removed, I unleashed stream of invectives that never sprung to my lips while I was in labor. So, I really don’t think I am a good candidate for waxing.

What’s a girl to do? I certainly couldn’t scare the other beachgoers with what I was smuggling in my bikini bottoms. I decided to turn to an old friend my teen years; Nair.

You remember Nair. It smells like rancid roadkill, burns your eyes, lady bits and everything else it comes in contact with.

Sadly, it also didn’t work very well. You’d leave it on for an hour, and end up removing three pubes and some random cat hair that had been stuck to your thigh. But, I was between a rock and a hard place, so I figured I would give it one more shot.

I pulled the tube out of the box and it was exactly as I remembered it. Suddenly, I was a teenager in southern California buck naked in my bathroom, grooming an area no boy had seen and wouldn’t for many years.

Layering the cream onto my errant hairs, I realized how far I had let myself go. I mean, it was bad. My poon could have started in a 1976 porn film, and been given a Porncademy Award for its realistic portrayal of a disco dancing vagina. I decided to bring my bits into the present and caked on a little extra of the spectacularly putrid depilatory.

Since I had some time to kill, I poured myself a glass of wine and walked around my living waiting for the moment I could wipe away my sins with a washcloth. Giving it a couple extra minutes, and a spare glass of wine, I gave my labia a little rub down, not really expecting too much to come off.

Oh. Sweet. Mama. The hair came out in clumps, some of it singed beyond recognition. WHAT THE FUCK, NAIR? What did you do to the recipe? Add Hulk-like steroids? Am I going to be bald once the horror of your product is wiped away from my body?

When it was done, I couldn’t bear to look at myself. I knew it would be hideous. HIDEOUS.

I forced myself to look… and there it was…. a perfect Brazilian landing strip ready for some sexy Latin man to lick. I even managed to get my undercarriage perfectly smooth. I was so relieved, and shocked. I am a walking Pinterest fail, and somehow I had taken a catastrophe, ripped it from the clutches of failure, and made a beautiful little island of pubic hair.

I felt pretty gangster as I stripped off my shorts at the beach. I wanted to throw my vajayjay into the faces of the beach goers and say, “Do you see that? No! You don’t! Because there is nothing there! MUWAHAHA!”

Instead, I sat on my beach chair, watched my kids frolic in the water and silent praised Nair and my magical vagina.


Filed under Martini Madness

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity

Ah, Summer. It’s warm, wonderful, and I can luxuriate in the sun like a cat. But, while I am a woman who loves Summer more than my husband loves bacon, my hair tells a different story.

I have been blessed/cursed with a magnificent mane of curly hair. On my best day, it resembles bouncy, beach waves and on its worst, I am rocking a mane worthy of the king of the jungle.

To tell what kind of day I’m having, I rate my hair on a scale of, “Normal to Simba.”

1. Normal, beautiful and bouncy.

2. Beyonce with her hair in the wind. Who am I kidding? I don’t look like Beyonce on my best day, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity | Ponies and Martinis

I wake up looking like this.

3. A sweet baby chick. Fluffy, but still manageable and adorable.

4. Alfalfa. The Little Rascal, not the sprout. One of the great mysteries of the universe is, “Why is there always one curl that won’t behave?” It’s like your hair is taunting you. What a bitch.

5. Pre-makeover Anne Hathaway from The Princess Diaries. “This is as good as it’s going to get. Sigh.”

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity | Ponies and Martinis

Shut. Up.

6. A full hipster beard, or unshaven poon tang. Lingering question, “Is there really a difference?”

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity | Ponies and Martinis

Fluffy, wispy in places. Nope. No difference.

7. Justin Timberlake with his ramen-haired 90s look. This usually happens when I get a little too liberal with the curl-shaping mousse. Nothing compares to audibly rustling every time you move your head.

8. Pom-pom with google eyes. On particularly bad days, I lose my peripheral vision and can only see my fro. I tend to bump into a lot of things.

9. Troll doll. I call this look, “I overslept and tried to crunch a little water into my curls to get them to lie down, but had to run out before doing anything real to my hair, and this will be in a bun as soon as I can fund a mirror and 50 billion industrial strength bobby pins, and even then it’s a crapshoot because my hair is liable to repel the bobby pins and I’ll end up putting someone’s eye out.”

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity|Ponies and Martinis

What is the troll to hair ratio here?

10. Simba. Naaaatsavayna….. babanitzivana… I am the Queen of Pride Rock, bitches, and don’t you forget it. (And if you point out that only the men have manes, I will take you down. And I’m not lyin’.)

My Curls Lose the Fight Against Humidity | Ponies and Martinis

I own this jungle, dammit.

No matter where do you fall on this scale today, I hope you have more good hair days than bad, and the power to give zero fucks on the days when nothing in the world is going to make your hair better.

Simba out.

photo credit: Closeup of Bluebell via photopin (license)

GIFs from Giphy

photo credit: Man with Beard via photopin (license)


Filed under Martini Madness

Ten Ways to Tell Spring is Not Your Season

Ah, Spring! Is there nothing more delightful? The snows of winter have melted, the tulips have emerged, and the world seems fresh and new.

But, there are a select few that may not be cheering the beauty of the season. Here’s how to tell if you are one of them.

  1. When you get into bed, your heels scratch the sheets and you briefly wonder if your child has ripped the velcro straps on their shoes.
  2. You go to shave your legs and realize the hair you remove would make a very healthy donation to locks of love.
  3. Opening the windows in your home is problematic because then all of your neighbors would hear you yelling at your kids.
  4. Hoarders called. It wants to help you take care of your spring cleaning.
  5. You’d rather sweat than give up your supply of cashmere sweaters and hot cocoa.
  6. Is that lice? A reappearance of snow? Nope. It’s the trail of ashy skin flakes you leave behind you when you walk.
  7. Damn, baby. Are those your hooves? I think your sandals just ran away in terror. Get yourself a mani-pedi stat.
  8. The thought of researching and selecting summer camps for your kids makes you break out in hives.
  9. Yoga? Piyo? Oh, hells no. You’d rather let that layer of warming winter fat linger around your midsection.
  10. When you go to pull the folding camp chairs out of storage, you cry a little because you know it means it’s time for another season of sitting next to bug-infested soccer fields.

Take heart, Spring-avoidant mother. The season will soon be done, and you can spend the summer stressing about the high cost of the school supplies coming up in the fall.


Filed under Martini Madness