Fuck My Life. I know, we all say it sometimes, and we really don't mean it; or we say it over petty/trivial things bothering our otherwise, stagnant and content lives, however, right now, at this moment in time, I mean it when I say 'fuck my life.' Let me start off by saying there are a great many things one could use as fodder against my right to say FML. I'm not living in extreme poverty, I'm not being brutally beaten or raped, I have clean drinking water, electricity and plenty of food, so I mean, I'm already better off than at least 2/3 the world. But goddammit, It's been a rough week filled with woman problems. So if you don't want to hear about my feminine issues, I advise you stop reading right now.
Woman problems: we all get them (well, at least 1/2 of the population does at one point or another). They can be anything from a freshly manicured finger getting the polish chipped, to a broken stiletto or a button popping off your jeans due to period bloat. I have had enough trivial issues adding up this week to make up for 3 months worth of feminine dilemmas. I decided to get my first Brazilian wax done this week. After reading up on it, I found a classy salon in Vestal (Acacia Aveda) that did waxes for $65. I know what some of you might be thinking, 'who the hell would pay that much to go through 40 minutes of brutal torture in the name of hairless skin?!'. Well, I was sick of razor burn and thought this was a great alternative. I also know some of you are thinking, 'shit son, I can get that done by a Russian waxer in the city for only $35.' Yes, well, this is upstate New York and not only are we devoid of Russians willing to wax another woman's nether region for an affordable fee, but most people up here just don't give a fuck what their nethers look like. I am not one of them. Now, as you may or may not know from previous blog postings, I have about the most sensitive skin that ever existed. I like to tell myself I'm like a fair, gilded lily, but in reality, my caucasian hide simply was not made to tolerate anything other than Nordic temperatures, minimal sun exposure, and absolutely no 'exotic' substances or product. Most people can tan; I burn and then have weird discoloration for months after the fact. Most people can use a body product without fear of a reaction occurring; I take a stroll in the woods and end up with an unidentifiable rash all over my side. Most people can take the daily assualts of life with stride, I get bruises for absolutely no reason and have at least 4 scratches or cuts on any given day from lord only knows what.
Anyhow, I scheduled this wax a week in advance, did my research, read precautions, and actually reconsidered after reading that bruising and redness could occur in people with sensitive skin. However, being the vain bitch that I am, I figured, 'nah, can't happen to me.' I was wrong. Instead of the baby smooth porn star look I was trying to achieve, I have about as much redness and blotchiness as a person who not only shaved, but then decided to go horseback riding afterwards. And please keep in mind this was done by a professional who'd been doing it for 13 years, in the nicest day spa/salon in a 40 mile radius. This is truly just my luck. I'm almost glad I had to cancel my obgyn appointment today, because the dr. might have called 1-800-poussoir-abuse on me. lol.
So then, today, I have my annual 'lady doctor appointment' (you know the one). I've been dreading it for the past week, but knew I might as well get it over with. I arrive at the office ready to go, and hand over my insurance card. Apparently my insurance is fucked up, and I have to call my insurance company and find out what's going on because I currently have none. I remember back in January when my parents were renewing their insurance, I was still going to be on my dad's plan, but there was a mix up then and I didn't get a new card or something, but my dad called and the insurance people said everything was fine....evidently it is not. I was not about to pay $300 out of pocket when I know for a fact I should be covered, so I rescheduled and have to make the trip to Oneonta again next week, when hopefully, all of my insurance shit is straightened out. Is is the end of the world? No. But did it severely annoy me that I woke up to drive to Oneonta when I will have to drive to Binghamton later for work? Yes.
Then I got my period. I mean, at least I know my body is healthy and I'm not prego, but Jesus Christ, of all the days to get it. I haven't seen my boyfriend in two fucking months and am seeing him tomorrow, so this is just another wrench thrown into my wheel. At least I know that my bloat isn't just due to the 5 lbs of candy and chocolate I consumed last week. On top of all of this, my face broke out. We all know how much I hate zits on my face... they just make my confidence go from normal, to zero. I don't know why; we all get zits, and I never really notice a zit on someone's face, so why would they notice the zits on mine? I don't know, but it's making me feel really ugly. I feel like I break out just in time to see my bf every time I see him. It's like I'm at my attractive peak one week before seeing him and then it's just all down hill with a series of zits, bad hair days, and bloat. wtf.
Friday the 13th is doing me all sorts of dirty. I would go have a glass of wine in the tub, but that'd probs just make me more emo, my zits more prominent, and my bloat more obvious. FML.
