Got this in the Inbox today, and just had to post it up - the agony of being a woman...or for that matter, a gay man:

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair...

And now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire. With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!! OH MY GOD!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the >strip. CRAP!!!
Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused >me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip...there's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DANG! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *Hoo-Hoo*?? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???

WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied >myself to the porcelain!!God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. Yeah right! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace...the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. IT WORKS!! It works!! I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.

I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair..THE HAIR IS STILL THERE...ALL OF IT!! So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color...
Now thats funny...not.

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At a recent party, a friend of mine who's engaged made the most curious comment about lesbians. A long-term friend of hers (who is invited to the wedding) had just emailed last month and 'come out' as a lesbian. With the help of a little bubbly, here's what my friend had to say:

"You know that if you invite a gay man to your wedding, he's going to be bringing the best looking guy you've ever seen. Chiseled features, snappy dresser - the works. Women make great choices when picking their men, but it seems that gay men take it a step higher. But when women have to pick other women, it seems they end up picking women who are half a chromosome away from being a man"

At the end of the conversation all I could think about was Portia De Rossi and how I wished I had some of her chromosomes.

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I nearly cracked up when I read the above button - having just found out 10 minutes ago that the chap that I'm currently trying to get something going with is a total twat. One-nighters and random pigs are all I seem to attract, so I guess I should stick to my strengths. A friend of mine says that for a relationship to develop, you have to be patient and wait for things to start clicking. Perhaps she's right, but why text someone tomorrow when you can sleep with them today?

On a more serious note, I'm glad that I've got people in my life looking out for me - makes this life a little bit easier to live.

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For someone who hasn't been clubbing too often, I've managed to figure out the different kinds of men that you'll find on the dance floor. Through observation, tagging, fluid samples, and probing(!) I have come up with this brief list so that you can avoid these men like the Black Plague the next time you head down to your local club:

1) The Pogo Stick: although our subject may or may not know how to dance, one thing he is desperate to prove is that he can jump. Be it Firestarter or Bootylicious, all he does is jump up and down on the dance floor. Kriss Kross would be proud.
2) The Boxer: tends to dance with his fists near his face, swaying around like he's walking through a vat of hair gel. Thinks he looks like a smooth mover, but in fact belongs on the set of Rocky XX.
3) The Salsa King: thinks that deep into each and every song there is a subliminal salsa track, and only he seems to hear it. He will sashay onto the dance floor, create a small space for him and his clueless partner, and then proceed to mambo around in tight black pants and open shirt, revealing a 2-inch forest of hair on his chest.
4) The Robot: so called because his dance moves closely resemble a very boring BASIC program. Observe:

10 LEFT FOOT OUT
20 TURN WAIST 20 DEGREES RIGHT
30 RIGHT FOOT OUT
40 SHAKE
50 GOTO 10

5) The Fake Ricky: this guy shakes his bon-bon like there's no tomorrow. Often dancing like his pelvis is a separate entity alltogether, he likes to thrust in any given direction (think Duff Man from the Simpsons), even when the music isn't particularly exciting. Avoid close proximity unless you want your drink flying out of your hand.
6) The Clueless White Dude: practically says it all.
7) The Random Drunk: there's one of them at every hot spot - the guy who's so drunk, he doesn't know where he is or what the hell he is doing on the dance floor. Body movements seem to range from 'suffering from a stroke' to 'all out seizure'. Buy this guy a drink and get him off the dance floor.

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Among friends, you always are aware of the difference between the relationship you have with a friend and the relationship you have with a family member. For example, you can have a friend over to watch movies, talk about life, and go out clubbing. But when they're doing your cleaning and hanging up your underwear to dry, then you know you've taken your friendship to the ultimate 'comfort zone'. When they've got their own towel and toothbrush holder at your place - now that's fucking family.

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So another friend of mine got married today, and though I can't attend because I'm stuck in Dubai, I still wish him and his new bride all the very best for the life together.

I've always imagined my wedding the same way for as far back as I can remember - white roses in the church, wearing a black tux with my hair long and sleekly swept to one side of my face, with my beaming husband-to-be waiting at the alter. Then the priest would begin the service and things would speed along just like any ordinary wedding. Except recently it's dawned on me that this wedding vision of mine is really never going to happen. I've been raised a Catholic, and last time I checked, no Catholic church was going to marry me off to another man. It really struck a nerve within me when I realized this, as I've always found Catholic weddings to be the most beautiful. Still, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I can never truly have the exact same ceremony that I have been dreaming of all these years. For me to admit this is actually a huge deal for me, but as they say, life does move on. I guess at the end of the day when you're walking down the aisle, there's someone waiting for you at the end who will love and cherish you for every single day of your life.

I don't know if I'm hung up a bit too much about dating someone, or being in a relationship. If you think about it though, every one of us has that innate desire to belong, to pair up, to not be the one left behind. We have our cliques, fraternities, alumni, and clubs so that we can pair up with people who have some sort of common ground. But for no special reason really, I would like to have that 'comfort feeling' that there is someone stable in my life. Yes, I have a group of friends who are absolutely fantastic in every way, and in no way would I ever substitute that for anything, but sometimes when you come home, it would be nice to curl up next to someone, or ring up that one person whom you know is sleeping, but will wake up just to hear you whisper "I love you...sweet dreams".

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What do you get when you put two gay men in front of a camera?

This. (worth a click)

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