Laser Hair Removal — Burning Your Vagina on Purpose

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Have you ever put Saran-Wrap on your lady parts? Don’t act like that’s a weird question.

Recently I let someone shoot red laser beams at my vajayjay over and over and over and OVER. And also at my legs. And armpits.

I know what you’re thinking. “I don’t remember that part in 50 Shades of Grey.” That’s because it’s not in 50 Shades of Grey, and also I probably wouldn’t trust a man to aim a laser at me when all of his blood is currently flowing in the completely opposite direction of his brain. AM I RIGHT?

I DID let someone (not a man) shoot me with laser beams though, because I’m sick of having my coworkers rip my hair out every month. Wait, that’s wrong. A more accurate statement would be that my coworkers are sick of ME, because I’m literally the worst client in the entire world and I will give any and every excuse for them not to pull the strip of hair off in that moment because blah blah blah and I’ll love you forever and buy you coffee EVERYDAY if you just stop torturing me already, and also I will aggressively grab your arm and smile so sweetly with terror in my eyes, alligator tears, and beg you to make it stop. So basically I’m worse than any of these clients that I’ve previously written about. I know this about myself though, and that’s the first step to recovery.

I don’t know why I’ve waited this long to give the permanent BUH-BYE to shaving and waxing, but it might have something to do with You’re taking ALL of my money right now? Okay cool, oh and also, Fucking OUCH.

Being an Esthetician, I knew quite a bit about the procedure and the skin-care side of being lasered, but that did not stop me one bit from having a minor panic attack in the car before I went in. I dumped a bunch of numbing cream down my pants in the parking lot at the last minute, with no qualms about the passersby trying to run errands in peace without getting an eyeful of my magic kingdom. I was also panic-texting my bestie about things that I just can’t share with you angels. Not even on a blog with the word “cunt” in the title. I was out of control. (Oh and also because some of it happened to be super sappy and what the fuck, people? I was totally prepared to be forever tormented by assholes, and nobody wants to hear about yummy mushy bullshit. I know, PUKE, right?).

😉

Anyways.

I tried to take all necessary precautions and prepare myself as well as I possibly could before having my vagina potentially burned off, as this would highly negate the reason to get laser hair removal in the first place.

If you’re not familiar with laser hair removal, you have to shave the area before the appointment. As someone who waxes peoples hoo-ha’s for a living and pounds it into their brains that they should NEVER shave, I really felt like I was cheating on myself. With a razor. What I learned from this process is that shaving fucking sucks, BUT, if you MUST do it, men’s razors are WAY better and slightly less likely to make you want to take the blade to your wrist (thank you, Claire, for your razor wisdom). I also learned that shaving EVERYTHING off is exactly what I thought it’d be. Fucking ridiculous. I’m very aware that popular culture likes the bare look, and 99% of my clients have me give them the full-meal-deal, but I just don’t see how looking like a really tall pre-pubescent child with too much makeup on is sexy. Nobody wants to bang a ten year old and if you do want to do that, I do not want to bang you. Glad that’s out of the way. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a landing strip. That’s all I’m saying.

After giving myself approximately 62 shaving-induced ingrown hairs, I decided to slather myself with the numbing cream I bought so that I could hopefully get through this procedure without having the cops called on me for punching my Esthetician in the kidney. Something fun I learned is that applying an active numbing agent on a freshly-shaved vagina is the exact same thing as rubbing liquid fire onto a freshly-shaved vagina. If I wasn’t busy sprinting to my freezer for the icepack while making up new curse words and fanning myself with both hands on the way there, I would’ve gladly taken a video of my freakout for you.

If you’re on the fence about using a numbing cream, I put together a pros and cons list for you (some people don’t want to put all of those chemicals on their skin. I on the other hand, don’t want to feel my vagina being lit on fire for an hour, so GIVE ME ALL THE CHEMICALS).

Pros to using numbing cream:

– Your vagina feels numb

– You can text your bestie about how your vagina feels numb

– You can text a guy you’re dating that your vagina feels numb. 

– Don’t do that that last one

Cons to using numbing cream:

– It feels like fire

– Your vagina isn’t going to be numb enough

– Your vagina can never be numb enough

– It’s really difficult to distinguish between if you just feel like you have to pee, and if you are actually peeing. In your pants.

Another fun thing I learned about numbing cream is that it activates more if you put Saran Wrap over the area. Yes, I 100% DID Saran Wrap my vagina. And whatever you’re imagining as far as how I did it or what it looked like, is probably right on the money. 

My Esthetician definitely thinks I’m crazy, and she’s not far off. I had my phone out the whole time, which surely creeped her out because who in their right mind takes pictures of someone burning the hair follicles out of their cooch? Well I’ve got news for you. I do that.  

 

 

 

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I promise you that this is the LEAST terrified I looked during my entire time on the table. The sexy glasses are to shield my eyes from the red light that the laser emits, but I know that it was actually to save my eyes from being shot with laser beams when I accidentally-on-purpose kicked my Esthetician in the face. 

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And just in case you don’t believe that I went through with it, that silver thing in the bottom right corner is a laser. I think you can guesstimate where she’s pointing it. 

So what does it feel like, you ask? Well, let me just tell you. After drawing a grid on you with a white crayon, your Esthetician is going to start firing the laser, quickly, all over the grid she drew. It’s basically as if your vagina has become a game of Pacman except that instead of a cute yellow cartoon character running around your lady bits, it’s a ball of fire. Lovely. 

I spent most of the time white-knuckling the table with one hand, texting my girlfriends and/or taking pictures with the other, and wondering if I’d ever let anyone near my vagina for any reason, ever again. 

I survived though, and lucky for me I get several more treatments to look forward to, with the laser being put on a more intense setting every time. SO LUCKY. CAN’T WAIT. 

It will all be worth it in the end, though. Right? 

If not, I’ll just drown my sorrows in lots of Butterfinger blizzards (extra Butterfinger). As if I need an excuse to do that. 

And on that note, I’m gonna go for a run. And by run I mean lounge on my rooftop deck with some wine. 

Happy Friday, lovers! 

Love, 

M. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are You Gonna Get My Gooch, Too?” — People You Meet on the Table

I’m an Esthetician. I do all forms of skin care. I’ll even tediously glue a single false eyelash extension onto every single one of someone’s real eyelashes, because sometimes I like to know how it feels to be cross-eyed. It’s called empathy, people.

While I am trained to do nearly everything on the spa menu, I mainly do brazilian waxing (or sugaring) all day.

Brazilians are my jam.

And no, I did not think that I would be removing hair from vaginas for a living, but I also did not think that Jimmy Fallon would marry that bitch of a wife instead of me, but such is life.

Except that she’s probably not a bitch.

What? I’m not bitter.

The thing about doing brazilians all day is that you meet all sorts of people. It’s almost like getting paid to people watch. Except with gloves on…and having private parts exposed. So yea, basically like people-watching. You also meet all sorts of vagina’s, but that post is for another day…or maybe never.

Anyways, here they are, in no particular order.

Disclaimer: This is not intended to be client-shaming. I love what I do, and I, myself, AM one of these clients. We are ALL one of these clients. And ladies, let’s be real. It doesn’t matter which type we are, we will always be stronger than men, because lord knows how much of a pussy a man is when you put hot wax and ball-sack in the same sentence.

So no shame, ladies! No shame.

Unless you’re the bad tipper.

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The 30 People You Meet on the Waxing Table

The Analyst – This client is constantly examining each spot as you wax it, double-checking for strays, and getting her hands all up in her goodies when YOUR hands should be the only hands within six inches of her cooch. Why? Because you have GLOVES on, and she doesn’t. Who cares? Well, when I’ve just ripped your hair follicles wide open, making them super susceptible to bacteria/toxins/other bullshit getting in there, and you want to rub your grimy little fingers all over yourself that were probably just all over your dirty cell phone and a glazed donut, well. Don’t come crying to me later when you have five thousand infected hair follicles. Thanks.

The Grabber – This chick grabs your wrists/hands/arms before you go to pull the strip or flick off the sugar. One of my clients even said to me one time, “You’re pulling way too fast! Can you pull the strip off slower please!?” Honey. Baby girl. If I pull this strip off slowly, not only are you going to feel every single hair come out of every single follicle at each individual moment, but you are also going to pass out from the pain and then be charged for attempted murder of your Esthetician. Now keep your hands to yourself, my love. Don’t make me get the cuffs.

The Low-Talker – The majority of your conversation consists of “Huh???” because this client is such a mumbler that you probably wouldn’t be able to hear her if your ear was in her mouth, let alone the fact that your face is basically in her vagina.

The Jekyll and Hyde – This girl is a sneaky devil. She is at best, very nice to your face, and at worst, politely smug. There’s nothing wrong with the service, and you go about your jolly day, wishing her a happy rest of hers. Later, you find out that she A) complains about things that NEVER happened (often resulting in a free service, or an excuse not to tip), or B) complains that it HURT. Sweetie pie, I’m ripping out your vagina hair. Did you expect an orgasm? 

The Dead Spider – This client has such a low pain-tolerance and is so tense throughout the service that is seems as though all four limbs are awkwardly frozen in a state of rigor mortis and her hands have gone white from gripping the table so hard. Her eyes are also most likely popping out of her sockets and you wonder to yourself if this is actually real life, or if you’re being Punk’d. …Or if you’ve actually just killed someone.

The Drunk – This chick is not a rookie. She knows what brazilians are about. She knows it’s painful, she knows she’s a pansy, and so she has a margarita or five beforehand. That way, instead of writhing around the table in pain, she’s laughing her ass off and getting really graphic about her latest hookup from Tinder.

The Loud Talker – This girl does not know how to turn the volume down, and no matter how many times you imply that there’s a massage going on next door, or how quietly you whisper, the bitch keeps yelling.

The Deceiver – This chick is the one that walks in ten minutes late saying “Oh yea I’m totes just a maintenance, you can get me done in 15 minutes no problem.” FULL-ON AMAZONIAN JUNGLE BUSH.

The Shaver – She thinks it’d be a good idea to come in just days after shaving, when the hair is barely long enough to even see with the naked eye, let alone rip out from the root. My favorite “shaver” is someone who came in after shaving absolutely everything off THAT MORNING. When I asked her why she did that, she replied, “Well I thought it’d hurt less if I shaved everything off, first.” Well of course it’ll hurt less, my dear. There’s nothing left to wax. Now kindly exit my room so I can scream into the pillow you’re lying on. 

The Vacation Emergency – This girl either walks in without an appointment, or is so late for hers that it’s past the cutoff time, but she will BEG you to squeeze her in because she’s leaving for Vegas in three hours and is clearly planning on whoring it up. I usually say yes because I take great pride in prepping my clients for one night stand’s and STD’s.

The Hyena – This chick has a slightly different way of coping with pain, and instead of grimacing or swearing, she laughs hysterically. THE WHOLE TIME. It’s honestly probably the most awkward situation of all. I do not know how to handle you when you can’t even stop laughing long enough to answer me when I ask you if you want me to leave a landing strip.

The Switch Hitter – This girl comes in with no idea if she wants me to sugar her or wax her, leave a landing strip or take it all off. After I’ve pulled the first wax strip off she’s decided that it hurts too much and wants sugar. Then she wants to take a breather and think some more about if she wants to be completely hairless or not. Then she wants to go back to wax because the sugar “feels pull-y” today. Do you know how hard it is to put a new pair of gloves on sweaty hands sixteen different times?! Make a decision and stick to it, darling. ‘Aint nobody got time for that. 

The Bear Trap – Also known as the Venus Fly Trap, this girl snaps her legs shut every time you rip a patch of hair out. The consequences are two-fold: 1) your arm may or may not have been shut in between her knees, which is how I once acquired a nice forearm bruise, and B) she has now officially stuck herself together with sugar or wax, and the “unsticking” is going to be painful. Really painful…which is what I like to call KARMA. So keep your legs open. 

The Crier – Rarely do I have someone cry on my table, but it has happened a few times. Most of the time the girl is so mortified about it that she stops noticing why she was crying in the first place and I’m able to finish the uh, project. Sometimes I stop the service because I feel like I’m partaking in war torture tactics. And SOMETIMES, more like ONE time, a girl was crying and I stopped the service because she disclosed that her “boyfriend” (who “bought” her, more or less), was FORCING her to get waxed. Here’s what I have to say to that classy gentleman: FUCK. YOU. 

The Stepford Wife – This lady is on point. If it’s an afternoon appointment, she’s dressed like she’s on her way to the country club. If it’s early in the morning, she’s got the most expensive designer yoga gear on that you could possibly buy. Her hair is impeccable, and you’d never catch her without mascara on. She NEVER misses an appointment, it’s always four weeks to the day, like clockwork. God only knows what her husband would do if she missed a wax. She’s fascinating to listen to because all she talks about is how hot her personal trainer is, or her latest trip to the south of France, or the yacht her husband just rented to sail around the San Juans next weekend. Basically she makes you feel really great about the fact that your upcoming weekend plans consisted of Subway combo meals and binge-watching 16 and Pregnant.

The Sexually Deprived – This client has just been through the ringer. Be it a terrible divorce, a messy breakup, or a stint in the slammer with no conjugal visits, this girl is ready to get back in the game. These clients usually give you an extra-large tip because they’re just so damn excited for their hoo-hoo to be ready for some yum-yum. If I didn’t care about keeping my job, I’d definitely end all of these particular appointments with a high-five, and a “You get out there and get yourself a hot piece of ass, honey! Yee Haw!” Because I’m classy.

The Bad Wiper – I don’t think this one needs much explanation because your imagination is probably accurate. My dress code doesn’t include a hazmat suit, people. The wipes are there for a reason. Use them.

The Full Disclosure – This chick does not give a flying fuck about what comes out of her mouth and will say things like, “Are you gonna get my gooch, too?,” or, “I know I’m not supposed to have sex for 48 hours after this, but can we do anal?,” or “I just need enough hair to be gone so that my boyfriend can eat me out.” These chicks are crazy. I love them.

The Post-Partum Bleeder – This lady will come in only  a few weeks after giving birth, and is clearly itching to get back on the sexy-time wagon. The problem is that she comes in before she’s allowed to wear a tampon…to stop the BLEEDING. So when she tells me we’ll probably need a lot of extra towels on the bed, I am forced to have to find a way to politely say to her “Um, NO you may not get naked on my table and bleed through my sheets and all over my hands while I sacrifice my own health in an attempt to prepare you for another round of baby-making. NO SOUP FOR YOU!” You’ve gotta be able to cork it, ladies.

The Skeptic – This girl show no mercy. She walks in looking you up and down, and turns your relaxing spa environment into an interrogation room. “How long have you been doing this? You’re new, aren’t you? What kind of wax is this? Why is it green? That’s not what my other lady used. What’s so good about sugar anyway? My friend told me that sugaring is bad for you. My old esthetician used to do my butt first, are you gonna do that? How’d you get into this profession, anyways? How many clients have walked out of an appointment? Has this place ever been sued?” Lady. Have you ever heard of Xanax? 

Aunt Flo – This chick comes in on her period, which is totally fine with me. BUT. Ladies. Please take note. If you are gonna come in on the rag, do yourself a favor. Make sure you have a new tampon in, and shove that string all the way up your chachi so that I don’t have to play Operation trying to maneuver around the damn thing. The last thing you or I want to have happen is your string getting caught in the wax and your bloody tampon being flung against the wall when I pull off a strip. Okay? Okay.

The Secret Sexpot – This chick looks like the girl next door on the outside, and then you remove the towel and she has six vagina piercings, or tattoos of swear words or really racist symbols all around her no-no zone. Now try starting a convo in THAT situation. Yea.

The Soul Sister – These are very few and far between. I only have two, and I see HUNDREDS of people. This girl is someone you meet and you instantly feel like you’ve been friends forever. You get super excited when you see her on the schedule and you always hug it out. Sometimes you even go slower so that you can chat longer. Basically you wish you could be talkin’ shop half- naked with mimosa’s on a beach instead of half-naked with hot wax on a table.

The Bad Tipper – I think the title explains itself. There are only two situations in which it is excusable to leave a bad tip, or no tip at all. A) I am so bad at my job that your lady bits now require medical attention, or B) I am literally the worst person in the world and do terrible things to you during your service like laugh at your vagina, or ask you if that weird freckle thing is an STD. Otherwise, anything under a 15% gratuity is pretty fucking lame, people. Okay, tip rant over.

The Accident – This client regularly sees someone else, and because of a scheduling accident/issue/whatever, she has to see you. She’s not happy about it. She dismisses you like you’re a dirty drunk bastard at a bar, trying to get her to sleep with you. You could rope the moon for this woman and she wouldn’t care. Sometimes she’ll say something like, “Well, I usually see so-and-so, so let’s just hope you’re as good as she is.” Well aren’t you just a peach! You’re really making me want to be gentle with your vagina right now! Buckle up, sister! 

The Hustler – This girl wants everything but the kitchen sink from you during her 30 minute appointment window. Now, a lot of my regulars tack something onto their appointment because they come every month so they’re a quick wax. And they’re NICE. That is not a hustler. Hustler’s are just plain pushy, and often try to get the extras for free. “Would it be possible to do my butt cheeks while you’re down there? Oh, and my belly patch? How far down my thigh do you actually go? Do you have time for eyebrows? How about my lip? Do you think I need to wax my chin? Oh, and can you trim me up a bit first, even though I’m a little late, so that it’s less painful?” Honey I’m about to stick this ball of pube-y sugar in your MOUTH. No. 

The Secret Stripper – Sometimes she’ll blatantly say she’s a “performer,” and own it. Most of the time, though, you’ll get a girl who says she dances for a living, but won’t tell you where or what kind of dancing…and then gets super uncomfortable and stops talking altogether. Right, okay. So I’m basically enabling young women to pay for rent by being groped at and ogled by disgusting men. How noble of me. 

The Procrastinator – This girl waits several months in between appointments. It doesn’t matter what you tell these ones, it’s like they enjoy the torture of waxing a full head of hair each time. For those of you that are unfamiliar, you need to get a brazilian every 4-5 weeks for it to be accurately maintained, less painful, and to receive the benefits of waxing/sugaring. If you only come every few months, it’s going to fucking HURT. Every. Single. Time. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The No-Show – Most of the time a no-show royally chaps my ass. Not because I so badly want to get up close and personal with another vajayjay, but because that’s one less tip for the day, and tips are how I make that dough, people! That being said, every once in a blue moon I love this client. For example, if I’ve just done 10 brazilians in a row and then someone doesn’t show up, I can run over to the nearest bar Starbucks, grab some fuel and smile at the cute guy by the window while I pretend like I’m excited about life and not just wanting to eat an entire bucket of KFC in my sweatpants.

The Prude – This girl is so shy and embarrassed, I really don’t even know why she’s getting a brazilian in the first place. She’s clearly not showing any man her ‘nanny, if she won’t even let me remove the towel. Sometimes this type will even leave her undies on and expect me to just magically be able to…what? Wax through them? She wants the hair gone, but I literally need the jaws of life to pry open her butt cheeks. Sweetie. I used to work in a psychiatric hospital. I saw things you can never un-see. Your ass hole is the least of my worries right now. 

 Now go out there and get your coochie’s waxed, you crazy kittens!

And don’t forget to wipe!

Love,

M.