How [NOT] To Groom Yourself

I have about 101 billion things that I need to do, but instead of doing them I’m going to write a post about body hair.  Why?  Because I like procrastinating and I’ve already caught up on the latest Downton Abbey episodes. So, what the hell.

A few months ago I decided that it was time to build a furry fortress around my body. I wanted to keep all others at a safe distance and becoming unkempt was the best option. It’s sort of like those thorns in Cinderella – they covered the castle walls and kept the place safe for 100 years. I wanted to became a princess in my very own hairytale.

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How does one earn the title of her hairyness? Well, if you’re lazy, it’s pretty damn easy – and I am exceptionally lazy. I like taking quick showers – not having to worry about shaving 99% of my body (that’s what it felt like), not worrying about all of those unnecessary nicks and cuts (why should I come out the bathroom every day looking like I just made a botched suicide attempt?).

I also LOVE that it takes me less time to get dressed in the morning – all dresses and skirts are automatically disqualified (unless I wear thick leggings, but those don’t feel great if your legs look like two glue sticks that got caught in a lint trap).

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Geez, Happy, if you’re so ‘dis-concerned’ about your appearance, then why don’t you wear the damn skirts and let your two leg beasts out to roam free?”.  Well, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, even though I’ve learned to accept myself for the hairy little hobbit that I am, I’m still aware that most people think that body hair is something to be reviled; an unspoken ‘thing’ akin to Voldemort and why most restaurants don’t have open kitchens.

HAIRY POTTER

Well, I have a question for you, if it’s so reviled then WHY THE FUCK IS IT GROWING ALL OVER MY BODY? If we hate it so much then shouldn’t body hair have been selected against during our electric slide across the evolutionary dance floor?  I mean, REALLY, is there REALLY so much wrong with a woman having a little fuzz on her upper lip? Is it honestly so awful that my underarms look like a Grateful Dead concert?

Is it so TERRIFYING that I could probably braid my boob hair?… Well, um… yes, it is a tiny bit terrifying…

I have a special ‘friend’ who lives on my left boob. I should introduce you, his name is ‘Sal’. He didn’t have a name at first, I was secretly hoping that he wouldn’t live past infancy, but then when he grew larger I thought I should probably baptize him and raise him as my own.

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I get it, I’m hairy. I’m an ‘all natural’ woman. But, WTF? I’d probably be laughed out of a Hungarian nudist colony. I’m so hairy that Larry Gomez Ramos wouldn’t want to see me naked (maybe his brother Danny would, who knows).

But, I can’t blame Sal for being who he is. That would be wrong, that would be ungrateful. Someday when I’m naked in the Arctic (It could happen, stay with me on this), Sal might be the only thing that keeps me from freezing to death – wrapping me in his loving, hairy embrace. Or, when I’m old and can’t afford a boob job, I can just wrap Sal around my neck and prop my tatas up like a clothesline (I’m a resourceful woman).

So, tonight I pay homage to Sal and all of his follicle hugging brothers and sisters that live en mass across the landscape of my body. May we all live in peace and harmony…

Until Summer.

When summer comes, this bitch is breaking out the razors.

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How To Play The Lottery

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I’m a good person. Mostly.

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I like to think that good things happen to good people.  Because of this, I HONESTLY, TRUTHFULLY, WHOLEHEARTEDLY believe that whenever I buy a Lotto ticket, I’m actually going to win.

It might be a single ticket, it might be 20. In my mind, I can’t lose.

So, obviously, I’m completely crushed when I don’t win.

ImageI’m even more upset when someone who is not a good, decent, honest person wins.

I think, “OK. The Lotto gods don’t reward good people, they reward drunken assholes who like fast food and spend all of the Lotto winnings on drugs. I can be that person!”

Then, when the next Lotto winner is a grandmother/nun who saves baby animals when she’s not volunteering at the local children’s hospital, I’m crushed yet again.

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Will I ever win?  Probably, most likely, there’s a chance, maybe, probably not, most likely never.

Will I ever stop hoping that I’ll win? Nope.

I’m a dreamer.  Like a bad pop song that just won’t get out of your head, dreams will never die.

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Work + Work = More Work

I haven’t posted anything for a while.  I’ve been working for 3 weeks, non-stop, on a project with the Herp-a-Derp.  His face haunts my dreams, and my nightmares – He actually scares the serial killers in my nightmares.  I honestly have no idea how he is still working there.  He hates to do work – complains about everything all day.  Doing anything at a pace faster than snail speed overwhelms him.  He also delegates all of his work to other people.  He’s a sleezy, slimeball, benthic piece of horse poop.

So, why hasn’t he been canned?

I attribute the persistent existence of his job to reverse sexism.  Somehow (due to a horrible twist of fate) everyone in my department is female.  Yes, if you’re wondering, the air is thick with hormones and going into work feels like braving the battlefield of World War Womb.

Because we have so many women, my managers feel that it would be ‘unwise’ to get rid of the only man on the team (at least, this is what my imagination tells me – who knows? they might get sued for only hiring women).

Anyways, I decided to take a few minutes to draw a picture of how this situation makes me feel.  My therapist* tells me that drawing pictures is very cathartic and can help me work through my anger issues.

*My therapist is actually an obese cat named Gremlin.  She has a weird foot fetish (likes to chew on my toes), but she’s a good listener.

 

Addictions Are Adorable

I get it – Caffeine is a socially accepted drug.

I saw this picture on the book of face this morning and I couldn’t help wondering, “Caffeine is a drug.  Why is it so adorable to make fun of people who are addicted to caffeine? Why isn’t it adorable to make fun of other addictions?”.

Meth addicts are pretty damn adorable – those toothless, gummy mouths make them look like a newborn babe.  The blueish, dying flesh on their faces resembles a smurf’s happy complexion.  The spasmic convulsions that they have when it’s been too long since their last fix make them look like a tiny, baby fawn that’s curled up in the grass and shivers when a cool breeze passes by.

I edited the picture.  Let me know if you feel the same pang of cuteness.